The Promise
by JoJo4
Summary: Draco promised to return to Hermione, but two years later she has lost faith. When he finally he reenters her life, why is she left only with questions? Complete.
1. Penelope Unwilling

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Author's Notes: I changed the formatting, so that won't double space between paragraphs. That was just a tad annoying. Also, I'd like to pass on something that my Myth Lit teacher once said: "There are authors who sit down and write, and authors who agonize over every single word." I am of the latter type, so don't be surprised if every now and then you find that something about a chapter is different. This is very much a work in progress, but I hope you enjoy whatever I churn out!

* * *

"We men may say more, swear more, but indeed

Our shows are more than will; for still we prove

Much in our vows, but little in our love." –Viola, Shakespeare's _Twelfth Night_

Chapter I: Penelope Unwilling 

by Jenni

After endless hours of confinement within the small enclosure, the air had become stale and humid from the condensation of his own breath. With every attempt to inhale, the captive felt his eyes roll up into the back of his head. It was an eternal struggle not to pass out, and it was only the combination of outrage and sheer determination that kept him conscious.

A sweat droplet ran a path from his forehead, and over his pale cheek. He stuck out his tongue as it fell onto his parched lips, and he tried to savor it. The salty flavor was at least something concrete onto which his strained senses could grasp hold until the door to his prison would swing open again.

He had never seen his captor's face, but he had heard him speak, and that was enough to recognize the sort of genteel voice that boasted a decent education, and a well-bred pattern of speech that resembled his own, yet it was harsher and harder, which indicated a greater age. As the stranger had shaved his head, he had felt soft hands that said indicated a gentleman's status when they raked across his scalp, and he knew that he had probably never done an ounce of dirty work before this. He knew these things because he made it a point to study his enemies in order to find their weaknesses. It had occurred to him more than once that an escape could be possible if only he was not so weak. Yet, all he could manage now was to live for his next clean breath of air. But someday he would escape, and he would be sure to mutilate whoever was holding him hostage. No one could keep Draco Malfoy against his will.

His lungs were beginning to burn, and he was now gasping for air. Soon he would pass out, never to wake again, and suddenly Draco wished he could see something. Anything but this immense blackness. He thought again of his plan to escape, and realized he should have tried it long ago. The bastard wasn't coming back. He had just left him to suffocate. But he would get out anyway. He would find some way.

His eyes closed, but Draco caught himself before he could fall asleep. He tried to think of his escape plan again, just to stay conscious. Then it occurred to him that he didn't want to think anymore about what was impossible. Death was stalking him–it was lying right beside him. For Draco there would never be freedom or the time to squander it.

In these last conscious moments he wanted only to think of _her_.

* * *

Hermione stood shoulder to shoulder with her friends, as they all examined the sign together. Ron's arms were crossed, and his eyes squinted in concentration. Harry was scratching his head with his wand. 

"Looks straight to me." he said.

Ron shook his head. "Nah, there's something off about it. Maybe it's hanging too much to the left."

With a flick of his wrist Harry shifted the sign so it hung more deeply to the right. "Now it's definitely crooked." he sighed.

Suddenly, Hermione's face brightened, and she pointed her wand directly at the obstinate object. "Wait, I've got it." she said. "Signum corrigo!"

Immediately the sign corrected itself, and hung neatly and completely horizontal. The three admired the words it displayed so prominently: "Potter Co., Private Investigators."

Harry beamed with pride. Leave it to Hermione! "Well," he said. "It looks like we're finally in business."

Cheerfully, he stepped between his two friends and threw his arms around their backs, directing them inside the new office. It was a clean, two-story building with red brick, located on a prime piece of property smack dab in the middle of Diagon Alley. Harry had spent the remainder of his fortune, as well as the savings of both Ron and Hermione to purchase the lot, and the three had spent an entire spring preparing to set up their new business.

Private investigating, something that seemed like it might be at least a tiny bit profitable considering their combined resumes, had been a natural choice for the trio. The name had been more difficult, of course, but "Potter" was finalized as the best option since Harry's fame would no doubt attract a larger clientele.

Ron had protested that "Weasley" and "Granger" were by no means unknown, but in reality no one had truly minded the decision. After all, Harry had always been the unifying factor in their lives, so why not name the business for him?

Harry was now leading them into the back rooms, right up to the little kitchenette they had set up in case of late nights. It was filled with the smell of freshly set plaster, and wallpaper glue, but the newness of it all was comforting to all three of them. This was a time for new beginnings.

Harry opened the door of their small cooler, stuck his hand in expectantly, and pulled out a bottle of champagne.

Ron's grin grew wider. "'Mione, will you do the honors?"

Hermione pointed her wand at the small table top to the left of the cooler, and conjured three crystal champagne flutes. But as Harry was preparing to magically pop the cork, a knock at the door caught there attention. And suddenly, with an irony that Hermione would later remark upon, when they had all been ready to usher in a new era, the past came barging back into their lives.

"Hello?" came the muffled call, followed by a frantic rapping on the door. "Hello? Is this place open?"

Ron took the champagne bottle from Harry, making a wry gesture at the door. "Our first client. Guess this'll have to wait."

Eagerly, they all three shuffled to the door, but as soon as they arrived, Harry brushed Ron and Hermione aside. "Sit down somewhere. We don't want to overwhelm whoever it is."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Harry, just open the door."

Obediently, he took a deep breath, flipped the latch on the door and swung it open.

"Yes, we're open. Welcome to Potter Investigations... Co...er, Potter Co..." At that moment Harry decided to save himself further embarrassment by shutting his mouth. But the woman who had arrived hadn't noticed his mistake. She was too busy unwrapping the dainty, black shawl which was draped fashionably over her head.

When she had finished, she stood facing three flabbergasted, young detectives.

Harry stood aghast before he sputtered, "What can we do to help you, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa Malfoy ignored the two men, and stared straight into Hermione's startled eyes. Her voice reached out to the other woman, as she stated breathlessly, "Draco is missing."

* * *

The hard summer rain pelted his back, and slid off his old rain coat. _Must get back...I must get back..._ This was the mantra he repeated over and over again to give him strength as he limped back to the inn. 

He hadn't meant to get so lost, but everything was different from how he remembered it, and on top of it all, he hadn't been able to break away from _her_ presence. Now that the pain potion was wearing off, he was feeling the full shock of his wound whenever he put his weight on his leg. He supposed he should see a physician, but there was always the nagging threat of being discovered.

But surely he wouldn't be caught. Not here. Not as long as got back to the inn. There was more potion waiting for him there, but he couldn't go on like this. He needed to be treated soon, and he didn't know what to do. The attack had been so unexpected, not so much because he hadn't expected his victim to fight back, but because he hadn't foreseen that this would be how it would be conducted. Auror magic! What could he do? Did he dare risk meeting her?

As the pain shot through him again, he realized he had no choice. But he would explain things calmly; he was certain she would understand. Then one of her friends could treat him in secret.

He hobbled down the street, trying not to attract too much unwanted attention. The rain had helped to keep most people of the streets, but perhaps this made him even more conspicuous. It certainly was slowing him down.

_Bloody weather,_ he cursed. Then, as if in retaliation for this bad thought, the man slipped on the wet cobblestones and fell flat on his face. "Oh God..." he moaned, forcing himself up onto his scraped hands and knees before he tried to stand.

Still, kneeling on the ground, he peered through the darkness. He could see nothing, for his silvery blonde hair had fallen into his eyes. With his hands he slicked it back haphazardly and squinted.

He wasn't far from the inn. Only a few paces away, but with all his wounds it seemed unreachable. _I can still crawl_, he thought, quickly dismissing the humiliation that would be caused by being seen crawling through the street.

He crawled all the way to the old inn, and then clawed at the door frame in order to get to his feet before he dragged himself inside. The innkeeper was not behind the desk due to the late hour, and there was no one who could help him up the steep flight of stairs, but he remembered the proprietor mentioning something about portkeys. "In case you're too drunk to go up steps, but still sober enough to read your name. They're right behind the desk."

He struggled a few more steps, examined the area behind the desk which was organized into slots with numbers and names written above them. His hand hovered over the 200's, until he recognized the slot labeled with his name in gold print: "Malfoy."

Hastily, his fingers searched the slot, and found what felt like a Muggle gum wrapper. And then, he felt himself falling and whirling about until he landed with a soft thud on the bed in his room.

More than anything he just wanted to close his eyes and rest, but he had to see about the boy. He struggled to the foot of the bed, where rested a large chest, enchanted so it would hold luggage that would normally be ten times its capacity. With great apprehension he pulled out his key, and opened the lock. The lid was thrown back to reveal Draco Malfoy.

Draco's eyes were wide open, but they were glazed over with death. What was left of his hair stuck to his forehead like wet straw, and his hands were clenched in his robes.

Rigor mortis had set in.

The man who had opened the chest looked in horror on the sight. His breathing had become shallow from the shock and the smell. "No..." he whispered to himself. "Damn you. I needed you alive."

He collapsed over the bed, burying his face in the covers, and beat the bed with the fist of his unwounded arm as he let out a great scream of frustration. It was several minutes before he could compose himself. He sat up and shut the trunk.

"It doesn't matter." he said out loud with new purpose. "I've come this far. It doesn't matter anymore."

* * *

Ron had fetched a glass of water for Narcissa, whose voice was becoming hoarse from excitement and too much talking. She was also wagging her hand in front of her face, fanning herself in an attempt to keep cool. Hermione had not yet charmed the office to maintain a comfortable temperature, and the summer heat made a small room almost impossible for three people to breathe easily. 

Harry was seated on top of his desk, conducting an informal interview, while Hermione sat in a chair by the door with her head bent low and her eyes focused upon the floor. The pad of paper she held in her hand was completely blank except for a few squiggles she had scrawled lazily in the margins. She was not disinterested, merely distracted by the myriad of emotions flooding through her as Draco's mother described in detail the most recent activities of her son: how he had started a business after the war with his Auror's salary. How he had used his meager profits to pay for his father's funeral. How he had been attempting to pay off Lucius' many debts before he disappeared. No, far from being bored, Hermione felt desperate for this information. She had not know how much she had wanted to know about Draco until this moment.

"The last time I saw him," continued Narcissa, "he was headed here to make a withdrawal from the bank."

Harry nodded. "And how long ago was that?"

"Two months." she answered. "He said he would be home in three nights...apparently he had other affairs to put in order." With that her eyes turned pointedly toward the chair on which Hermione rested, but the object of her gaze sat with her face downcast, and failed to notice the gesture.

"What affairs were those?" asked Harry, scribbling down her answers in a notebook.

"I believe it was something about a girl."

Hermione's head shot up, but Narcissa missed the expression of confusion and frustrated hope that flushed over her cheeks, for at that same moment Ron had stepped in holding a glass of water.

"Here's your water." he handed it to her with a smile. "I couldn't find any from the bottle, so you'll have to drink it flat."

"Thank you." she said after taking a sip. She wetted her lips and cleared her throat.

"Did he actually say it was...'about a girl'?" piped Hermione from the doorway. Her voice was small and thin, a detail which did not escape Harry's watchfulness. Both he and Ron shifted their glances from Narcissa to Hermione and back again. Unconsciously, Ron's hand went to Hermione's shoulder to support her. Either that or to stop her from asking. She wasn't quite sure, but she knew she didn't care.

But all Narcissa could say was, "He didn't exactly tell me, no."

Hermione's heart beat slowed to normal. "Oh." was all she could muster.

Harry coughed, bringing the questioning back on track. "Mrs. Malfoy, why didn't you say something before now if your son has been missing two months?"

"Oh, but I did." she protested. "I informed the Ministry at once, but they haven't been able to find out anything. Of course, they did find the room he had been staying in at the Leaky Cauldron, but that's been vacated for weeks. The truth is that the Ministry is useless. Draco always used to say so..."

"So you came to us." Ron finished for her in a sympathetic voice, which despite its personableness was all business.

Narcissa paused to wipe at her eyes. "I remembered hearing him complain all through his schooling about how you three were always investigating mysteries and running around where you didn't belong. But you always got the problem solved, no matter what you had to do to solve it. That's the type of team I want looking for my son." Her jaw began to shake, signaling the end of her ability to maintain her composure. Before she broke down completely, however, she turned to face Hermione. "...And...and Ms. Granger," she sniffed. "He never said so, but I know he came back for you!"

Then she lost herself in tears, leaving Harry utterly at a loss. Ron stepped forward awkwardly and handed her his handkerchief, then patted her gently on her back, exchanging a panicked glance at Harry. "What do I do?" he mouthed.

Harry shrugged in return, and looked helplessly toward Hermione, but she was no help. She seemed quite as discomposed as Narcissa, although perhaps more quietly so. Her hands were pressed over her mouth, and her eyes were wet as she excused herself from Harry's office with a brisk apology and swept out the door.

Harry sighed, returning his full attention to his new client. "There there, Mrs. Malfoy." he tried. "I think we have enough information for now, but we'll definitely need more. Could you give us a way to contact you in the future?"

She sniffled in a dignified manner, dabbing at her nose with Ron's handkerchief. Then, as if realizing this wasn't enough, she covered her nose and blew as if she was a hurricane. Narcissa handed it back to a disgruntled Ron with a muffled "Thank you," and Ron chucked it into the waste paper basket when she wasn't looking.

"Here's my...a...address," she hiccoughed a little, and the quill with which she had been writing down her address jumped, leaving a little trail of ink. "J...just apparate here, and one of my house elves will find me."

"Is that Derbyshire or Devon?" asked Harry, surveying the unreadable directions.

"Derby..." Narcissa sniffed, and then promptly broke into a wail. "Draco never liked D...Devon. I don't know why! Maybe it was because of his grandparents...he didn't like them either..."

Behind the now inconsolable Mrs. Malfoy, Harry saw Ron pantomiming being beheaded. "I haven't got another handkerchief!" he mouthed, then pantomimed what appeared to be a man savagely beating Mrs. Malfoy. He gestured wildly at Narcissa, mouthing something Harry didn't understand, and then it looked as if Ron was blowing his nose into the air.

Rolling his eyes, Harry took out his own precious handkerchief and handed it to Narcissa. He got off the desk and patted her on the back, and while she plastered herself all over his arm, Harry pointed to the upstairs level, whispering to Ron. "Go see about Hermione."

Before Ron had found her, Hermione had been resting quietly by the window, her hands neatly folded in her lap, a pose that belied a calmness she did not feel. She had been thinking about the birds outside, the people walking on the street, and anything else that would keep her thoughts from wandering to Draco. He had been gone two years, and in those two years so many things had happened, but Hermione's heart had remained constant. Most of the time she tried to deny this, but just the memory of Draco's smile or even a snide remark brought him back to her mind as fresh as the day he had disappeared from her life. Hermione remembered that piece of Muggle literature, _The Odyssey_, where the hero's wife had waited for twenty years to hear word of her husband. Well, Hermione had already lost patience with her lover. After all, he hadn't been far away and suffering. Instead he had been one county over, with nothing but thin air to block their reunion. The moment Hermione had learned this she had resolved to put Draco Malfoy out of her mind forever...

But once Ron found her those memories came flooding back to her, all with his simple, "Are you all right?"

He was standing in the doorway when he spoke, with his hand resting on the frame. Hermione knew this only because she knew his habits, for she was not facing him as she asked, "Did Harry send you up?"

"Yeah, and also Mrs. Malfoy was becoming hysterical, so I thought I'd better escape."

She smiled despite herself. "You can't escape from every client."

He walked fully into the room, and shut the door. They were in Hermione's private office, and the only room in the whole building that had been completely furnished and cleaned. "Neither can you," he offered, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to think of something to talk about. He found the task rather difficult. He didn't want to broach the one subject that he knew was on her mind, but he found it would be crass to speak of anything else. And so he dared to bring it up:

"Of course, I never liked Draco Malfoy," he began, as if they'd been casually talking about him for hours, "...but since we have to find him and all, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones." 

Hermione scoffed in a manner so exaggerated that Ron could tell it was insincere. "You're so noble." Then she shifted her chair to face him. She set her right hand on the desk and began to play with a letter opener in the shape of a sword. He watched her play with it awhile as she contemplated the futility of silence. "I loved him." she said to no one in particular.

"I know," he answered. That wasn't exactly true. He hadn't been present during their brief affair, or at least he hadn't known about it or noticed it. All he knew was that when he had come back from his mission, he had found Hermione different. Somber and tired by turn and hopeful and determined the next. Only after the war did he see her crumple. With each passing day she seemed to sink deeper into a depression from which she had only recently emerged. Harry eventually told him that she had fallen in love with Malfoy during the war. Ron inferred on his own that Malfoy had not come back. Or he hadn't come back for Hermione at any rate.

Ron was busy trying to remember if he was angry at Malfoy or not. Before the war he would have been incensed that any man should treat his friend this way; to have promised so much only to completely forget her. To not even give her a single word concerning his whereabouts. But Ron understood soldiers; he had been one. Being a soldier did funny things to people...

Once he had seen Malfoy at the Ministry when he had gone to have lunch with some secretary. He hadn't told anyone about it, especially not Hermione, who would have gotten upset; but he remembered that Malfoy had not run in the other direction. Instead, Malfoy had stopped in the hallway and said, "Good Day." And he had delayed him from his date for ten minutes while Ron watched him stutter and try to carry on a good conversation. There had been something in Malfoy's eyes that caused Ron to forgive him, even to pity him. It was strange for him to feel so reticent towards a man who had once raised such violence within him. It was strange for him to think first rather than to feel anger.

But the war had broken Draco Malfoy. Ron had known it as he knew his own name.

Hermione brought him back to the present by slamming the brass letter opener down on the desk. Ron did not reproach her for her anger, although he was unnerved by it. She was always the level-headed one. "It just seems too ironic that he was coming to find me, and then conveniently disappeared. That's always the way things turned out, right?"

Aware that the room had gone cold, Ron began to feel even more uncomfortable, especially when he noticed Hermione grinding the letter opener into her desk pad. "'Mione..." he tried to stop her.

"Why didn't he come back before? And now...Ron, what if he's dead?" As her voice began to quiver, Ron looked at her helplessly.

"I haven't got a handkerchief." he reminded her, but he drew near and wrapped his arms around her. "Please don't cry. Just try to think of this as a job, that's all. Your Draco is all in the past."

"No, not anymore..."

Ron snorted. "And don't listen to that rubbish from Narcissa Malfoy, are you? Maybe he was coming back for you, but she doesn't really know. She's just an ex-high society dame trying to play matchmaker."

"Who is also Draco's mother." she protested. "She might know or maybe he talked about me or said he missed me or something."

"Honestly, Hermione! Do you want to get over this or not?"

"I do." she answered. "But..."

"Don't get yourself worked up again." said Ron. Then he brightened. "Why don't you go home? You can test out our new floo connection." He saw the jar of floo power sitting on the desk, and pushed it toward her like he would a cookie jar.

"Don't think about him anymore." he instructed her. "He may not have been a Death Eater, but he was still a pretty bad boyfriend, if he even stuck around long enough to be that..."

"Ron, you're not helping."

"All right, maybe a bath will." he said. "A nice long, hot bath and some good food. Harry and I could come over later, or maybe just me..." He noticed her look. "or maybe just Harry..."

Hermione took the jar from him. "Ok. But I'd really just like to be alone tonight. I need to think things over before we start working on this."

Ron flashed her a debonair smile before he bent over to give her a brotherly peck on her cheek "Sure. I suppose I owe Lisa a date."

"Laura." she corrected.

He shrugged. "Whatever. See you in the morning."

* * *

Hermione had never liked floo powder, which is a fact that reasserted itself in her mind the second she was unceremoniously dumped in the fireplace of her apartment.

"What a day." she mumbled to herself, as she brushed the soot off her rear, and deposited her purse on the floor. She took a step towards her couch, only to stumble over an aging Crookshanks, who was too tired in his old age to even meow in protest.

"Oh, I'm sorry, baby." she cooed, bending over to pick up her pet. "Today's been a frightful mess." she told him, sitting on the couch and stroking his fur. "Do you remember Draco? Well, I try not to."

Crookshanks' only response was to look at the kitchen, which was separated from the sitting room only by a small doorway.

"Are you hungry?" asked Hermione. "Of course you are. You want food. You don't want to think about that conceited, lying, arrogant..."

Suddenly, a pot fell to the floor with a resounding crash that was followed by a low and muffled curse.

Hermione jumped and Crookshanks hissed. She rushed back to her purse to grab her wand without setting the cat down. "Hello?" she cried, clutching Crookshanks in one arm and her wand in the other. "Show yourself before I make you appear!" she ordered.

A few quiet footsteps came from the kitchen, one more drawn out than the other as if the stranger was dragging his foot. An arm appeared through the door, then a leg and a shoulder, and then everything until at last the intruder was standing squarely in front of Hermione.

She gasped, and dropped her wand, bringing her hand to her gaping mouth. Crookshanks struggled in her tightening grip, but she was too numb to feel it.

"Draco!"


	2. The Prodigal

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Chapter II: The Prodigal 

by Jenni

She felt the blood rush from her face, and her fingers that grasped her wand were holding it so tightly that her hand had gone numb. Her entire body was quaking with the sheer joy and apprehension and fear of it all.

Many months ago, when it had first occurred to her that her liaison with Draco had been nothing more than a heated fling, she had begun to prepare speeches in the event of his return. Her revenge had been planned out to the smallest detail. She had planned to greet him with a casual 'hello,' and then, after he had professed his undying love, she would tell him it was over, and that she had gotten over him in the long interval. Her thoughts had been so detailed over this matter that she had the entire scene scripted in her mind even down to the hand motions and body language she would use.

But as he stood before her, staring at her with eyes so haunted that it seemed he had come back from the dead, Hermione could not find the words to say, "I've forgotten you." Instead, she wanted to run to him and enfold him in her arms–he looked so lost with that disheveled hair and sunken face. His figure was so thin, a fact she could tell by the way his thick robes hung so loosely about his frame, and by the tightness of the skin on his hands that were grasping at the wall for support.

Crookshanks, sensing his impending danger in the trembling arms of his mistress at last put forth the effort to escape. Automatically, Hermione set him on the arm of the couch, and stood straight without ever realizing she had moved. "Draco..." she whispered again.

At last she could not contain herself, and she went to him, arms ready to embrace him.

"Don't touch me!" exclaimed the prodigal in a voice too raspy to be recognized. He drew back too quickly and stumbled in his weakness, but he caught the wall and manged to right himself.

Not listening, Hermione went to him with arms outstretched, prepared to lift him up. Still he rebuffed her, raising his hands to ward of her touch.

"I mean it. Don't come near me." 

Hermione halted immediately. "_Why?_" she repeated in shock. Suddenly all her intentions came flooding back, and the euphoria she had felt was replaced by two years of rejection and resentment. She swallowed it down in light of this more pressing situation. "You're not well," she told him, as if he hadn't known. A small gesture towards his pale features, caused him to shoot to his feet and further away from her. He seemed to stifle a gasp of pain.

In response, Hermione raised her hands, palms upward in surrender, and backed away. "I won't touch you," she assured him. "Just don't move again. You're obviously in pain."

"It's not safe." said Draco in a voice half-crazed. He was staring at her as if she were a phantom, and yet...he was definately staring at her and not through her. His eyes were focused despite how wild he looked.

"I..." his lips tripped over whatever it was he wanted to say. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

"What?" Hermione folded her arms over her chest, rubbing her trembling shoulders to warm them. She sat down on the arm of the couch and watched her former lover gasp and wheeze against the wall as he fought to stay conscious. "Please, Draco, let me help you."

For a moment he seemed willing, but then he shook his head. "_It's not safe_," he said once more.

He brought his hand up as if to touch her cheek, but he was standing five feet away and couldn't reach her. Hermione just sat there and let him caress her form in mid-air. She shook her head at the pathetic sight. _He's gone daft_, she realized. _That's the only explanation._

"Why are you here, Draco?" she asked him, trying to keep him sane. Perhaps that was impossible, but she could try. And when he did not answer her question, she continued as if he had.

"I suppose you're here because of your mother. She came to my office today with a missing person's report."

"My mother?" he asked, his eyes oddly growing brighter. His hand that had been reaching towards her he now placed against the wall.

Hermione shook her head in confusion, but blustered on anyway. "Yes, your mother. She said a funny thing today. She mentioned that you might be coming back, and well...here you are." 

Draco sank to the cold floor and pressed his forehead against the clean plaster of her wall. Tears fell freely down his face, but he did not offer a single word in response.

"You promised to come back, you'll remember. I believed you, even though I said I didn't." Hermione dared to move from her safe position on the couch. She came closer and knelt by Draco, still two feet away. "I read in a newspaper article that you had returned from the war. Up until then I had just assumed you were dead."

Her throat clenched tightly around her words as she explained to him her dismal existence of the past two years in one glorious, cathartic release. Her eyes were hot with unshed tears. "I stopped believing you cared until your mother came. Is it true what she said?" asked Hermione, hardly daring to hope.

"Is what true?" said Draco, still not facing her.

"Did you come back _for me_?"

Then, miraculously and without any hesitation, he faced her. "_Yes_. God, yes I came back for you."

She shuddered with happiness, and once again moved to embrace him. And once again he stopped her.

""Hermione, don't."

The hurt must have showed on her face, because he looked away again, unable to bear her pain. But he was smiling and stable for the moment.

"I suppose my mother had hysterical fits in your office because of me."

She ignored his question and got up. "I'll get you a glass of water," she said with ice in her voice. "Since it's not _safe_ to touch you, it's all I can do. I assume you'll explain yourself."

"I won't," he declared with eerie certainty. "I just needed to see you."

Hermione pulled a glass from the cabinet and nearly slammed it on the counter. She was angry that he had come back to her and still seemed so far away. Their reunion was just a pale substitute for all the ones she had imagined before. And he was withdrawn from her. The loss of intimacy grated on her mind so she was no longer sure of how she ought to receive him. Right now she wasn't even so sure she wanted him in her flat.

She ran water from the tap and eventually thrust the glass his way.

_You've got some nerve_, she thought as she watched him carefully take to glass so their fingers did not meet. _Everything is YOUR way, and what does it matter who else is inconvenienced?_

"I don't think I want you to stay here tonight," she told him. "I think you should go to the hospital. You're ill, but since you won't let me help you I can't do anything for you."

When Draco didn't move, Hermione felt two years of pent up wrath boil inside her. _He never listened._

Except that this time he did. He took a few sips of water and then set the glass on the floor. Slowly, almost reverently, he pushed himself to his feet and stood. "All right," he said. His tormented eyes searched hers, and then their feral nature seemed to die. Hermione gaze up at him, realizing how close they were when she felt the heat of his breath on her lips.

"There's the door," she pointed towards it, ruining the moment before he could, but her arm shook violently. Suddenly it came to her that he might never come back once he left. And certainly he would not return after such a cold reception. Her arm fell back to her side of its own accord as she waited for him to go. But when he still did not move, something desperate took over inside, and Hermione could no longer control herself.

"What do you want from me?" she cried. "Did you just come to see me? If that's all, then just go!" She nearly threw herself at him, nearly struck him just to get a reaction from him. She only needed one sign, _just one_, that he still loved her. Otherwise, she wanted him out. This agony must end! "Leave if you want to!" she shouted. "The door is right there! Please, I need you to go...I can't do this again. Get out...I can't...I can't..."

Without realizing what she was doing, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held herself to his chest. Her words came out in strangled sobs muffled into his cloak, and all the time Draco struggled to set her on her feet again. The effort was taking its toll on him, and his efforts grew weaker and weaker.

"Hermione," he let out a pitiful gasp. "You have to let go." And suddenly it was no longer Draco who was supporting Hermione, but Hermione who was supporting Draco. He had fainted.

Horrified, Hermione saw the blood on her sleeves where Draco had grabbed her in order to push her away. He was wounded...

Reality set in.

"Oh bugger," she cursed, lowering his heavy body to the floor and trying to think. "Bugger bugger bugger," she chanted as she searched about the floor for her wand, finally finding it on the couch cushion where she had set down the cat. Pointing it at Draco she muttered the charm, "Mobilicorpus" and pushed him through the air in the direction of the bedroom.

_What a silly thing,_ she told herself, although she didn't find the situation silly at all. _Every time I have a crisis, he always has a bigger one_.

* * *

Harry chewed thoughtfully on his quill as he and Ron brain stormed at the kitchen table of Ron's apartment. Chewing on his quill had become a bad habit, which Hermione always corrected when she could. Except she wasn't here, so Harry felt it necessary to make up for extra time by chewing even harder. 

Ron was pacing up and down the adjoining great room, apparently bent on making his friend collapse from dizziness. However, Harry had rectified the problem by removing his glasses so he wouldn't be forced to watch Ron's endless treks back and forth across the room.

"So..." he spoke for the first time in five minutes. "Thought of anything yet?"

"He could have been kidnapped." answered Ron.

"We already wrote that one down."

"But!" interrupted Ron as if he had some brilliant idea. "If he wasn't kidnapped, he could have just went into hiding."

Harry tossed his quill aside and dropped his head to the table in exasperation. "We've got nothing. I should have asked better questions."

He heard the shuffle of Ron's feet against the rug as he approached from across the room. "Well, you can go see Mrs. Malfoy in the morning." said Ron, patting Harry reassuringly on the back.

"Me?" exclaimed Harry.

"You have such a way with her!"

"You're the ladies man!" argued Harry. Then pouting like the school boy he no longer was, he sank lower in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "I think we should send Hermione. It's her turn." But before Ron could answer 'no,' Harry had already reached the same conclusion. With a sigh, he set his glasses back over his nose, and took up his pen. "I'll go. What will we ask her?"

"Why he might have wanted to disappear. Why anyone would have wanted him to disappear."

"Maybe we should ask what his business is. It's funny, but I've never heard anything about Malfoy starting a company."

Ron gasped. "That's it! There's our lead!"

"What is?"

"I can't believe I didn't think of it sooner!"

Harry's eyes rolled again. "What?" he demanded.

"Malfoy's business. My father mentioned something last year about a black market trade with some Muggle corporations. A few wizards have been suspected of sending magic objects to Muggle warehouses. Malfoy's name was on the list!"

"How does that have to do with disappearing?" asked a frustrated Harry.

Ron shrugged. "Well, if my father knows, so does the Ministry. It's just a hunch."

Smiling, Harry began to scribble on his sheet of paper. "All right, so you think that maybe Malfoy is hiding from the Ministry?"

"Disappearing sounds more like something he would do than getting kidnaped."

"You know, Ron," replied Harry with a grin, "Most people don't have control over whether or not they're kidnapped. Just because Malfoy would find it more dignified to disappear, doesn't mean that's actually what happened."

"He was a spy; he was trained to disappear. Who would want to kidnap him? No one kidnaps grown men."

Hermione could have screamed as she surveyed the mess that was Draco's dressings. She hadn't had any bandages, so she had been forced to rip up a few dresses and towels to stop the bleeding on his arm. It was only half an hour later that she discovered the wound was cursed to remain open, which seemed odd since only Aurors were supposed to know that spell. Of course, after the war most wizards remaining in Britain were ex-Aurors, but why would they have been after Draco? More importantly, why hadn't Draco used the counter curse?

His leg presented some problems as well, mostly because Hermione couldn't see what was wrong with it. She had consulted her library of medical books which she had collected years ago in preparation for any action she would see at the battlefront. To her dismay, she had not only failed to memorize all the material, but she even had trouble locating the correct section in which she might find a solution for his leg.

She discovered that it was an isolated stupefaction curse that froze whatever region of the body was hit, and also disguised itself as a small wound–like that a Muggle bullet would cause–in order to make it even more difficult to diagnose.

Meanwhile, it was hours later and Draco was still unconscious, but at least he was on his way to recovery. As for avoiding physical contact, Hermione had been unable to grant his request since she had been forced to undress him and bathe him, and then check his pulse. The only thing she hadn't removed was the tightly woven bandage he had wrapped around his forearm. It seemed charmed so that it could not be removed, but since it had been clean Hermione had decided to let it be. She hoped he wouldn't be too angry when he awoke, but in truth she didn't care. If he had the audacity to be angry over her administering to his many wounds, then she'd be more than willing to toss him out into the street and let him fend for himself. Hell, she'd even wear oven mitts while doing it, if that was what he wanted.

But as her eyes wandered over his face, she softened. He looked so tired, and so much older than she remembered him. There were lines on his face, and...

Since when did Draco have a scar on his cheek? Had that been there earlier?

Hermione squinted, and leaned forward to examine it more closely. It was a ragged line from his nose to his ear, and so prominent that she was baffled as to how she had missed it before. Her hand went out to touch it...

"DON'T." A very alert Draco caught her wrist, and then, realizing what he had done he released it instantly. His eyes were crazed as they locked onto hers, and just as soon the intensity faded.

Hermione jumped away. Her mouth opened with a retort, but saw it was no use. Draco had slipped back into unconsciousness. Go ahead and sleep, she thought bitterly as her heartbeat continued to register the shock he had given her. But what had she expected, a thank you? Ha! A 'thank you' from Draco Malfoy! Some things never changed. Yet, this new Draco frightened her; she didn't understand him. He wasn't the considerate or selfassured lover she had known, nor was he the petulant and offensive brat she remembered from Hogwarts. There was an air about him that reeked of danger and darkness and...insanity? She wondered whether the war had done this to him. He was not like Harry or Ron or herself: He had been fighting his friends and family. He had never seen the conflict as black and whiteevil and goodonly layers upon layers of gray. Perhaps it had twisted him in a way that she and her friends could never be twisted. But why hadn't he come to her? And how could a crazy man do all the sensible, practical things Narcissa had mentioned?

Why wouldn't he let her near him?

As her face lay buried in her hands she attempted to collect herself, and when she had succeeded her first thought was of her friends. She would contact them; they would come, and then... Well, she wasn't sure what they would do, but whatever it would be, she would feel better.

_

* * *

_

_"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen. They're so clear, I can see myself in them." _

_Hermione raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Ron, I think that's one of the worst openers I've ever heard." _

_"Ok, how about this one..." _

_"No no!" she flung her hands up, exaggerating how annoyed she really was. In truth, she was just happy to see her friend acting so cheery. "I can't take any more. Go ask Harry for advice." _

_He looked at her pleadingly. "But you're a girl! Anyway, Harry doesn't know any lines. He just moves his hair so everyone can see his scar." _

_"Hmmm. Well...be modest, but aggressive." _

_"Modest? You think that'll work?" _

_Hermione pondered her own statement for a moment, feeling especially thoughtful. "With some girls." Her gaze drifted off to the young man whom she knew to be hidden in the shadows by the wall of the Officer's Club. Handsome and daring, and oh, anything but modest! She'd been trying to shoo off Ron for the past fifteen minutes because she knew Draco wouldn't come until she was alone. Then he'd sit down, and stare into her with those pewter eyes of his and say something so delightfully smooth that the tremor of his voice would creep up her back and make her shiver. "Let me buy you a drink," he'd say. And tonight she had decided to let him. Of course, he didn't know that. He would be expecting her to refuse his offer...again. Maybe throw an insult his way before getting off the fancy barstool, bidding farewell to her friends, and directing herself back to headquarters. But he would expect to see her stop at the exit, and flash him a smile before she left. She had stopped every single time she had run into him, driven at first by caprice, and later by the overwhelming desire just to see Draco once before the dawn of the next uncertain day. _

_Draco...damn! Only a moment's distraction and she had lost sight of him. She searched the dance floor, then the bar, only to find the back of his head disappearing through the exit. Hermione jumped to her feet, quickly excusing herself from Ron, who was counting on her to rate yet another one of his pick up lines. _

_"I've got to go." she muttered as she raced for the door, tackling a young lieutenant and a captain on her way. "Sorry!" she shouted without turning around. _

_She flung herself through the exit, and stumbled into the alley, her eyes darting about. At last, she caught sight of him, leaning against the brick near the door, screened by a steady stream of officers just entering the club. However, once they disappeared through the door Hermione found herself alone with her one-time nemesis. The moonlight reflected in his silver hair, and she could see his breath puff out with slow, even exhalations in the cold November air. He was gorgeous. _

_"You're supposed to buy me a drink," she stammered, without realizing how ridiculous she sounded. _

_He merely shrugged. "You already had one."_

_"I missed getting to insult you." _

_Casually, he shifted his weight onto the other leg. "I don't think that's why you came to find me," he told her with conviction and a smirk. _

_"No." she said without pretense, and was pleased by the flicker of surprise on his face. As fun as it was to play with him, Hermione couldn't deny the attraction any longer. The flirting, the innuendos that had passed between them at every meeting weren't enough anymore. It was time to surrender...except Draco wasn't moving. Instead, his initial confusion was replaced by his usual smug confidence. He was going to force her to make the first move. Forgoing pride, she walked toward him until they were standing quite close. Her gloved hand reached out to touch his arm that was covered by the thick, gray Auror's coat. But her simple gesture was not enough, and they moved even closer, undaunted by the layers of clothing between them. He bowed his head; she raised hers until their lips were almost touching. _

_"What would your friends say, Granger?" he asked suddenly, as if completely unaffected by their closeness. However, the question failed to ruin the moment, for Hermione put up her rose red mouth and kissed him. Her hands pulled him lower, and wrapped themselves in his hair as he pressed her full against his body. The collar of his coat scratched her chin, and her ears were cold in the winter wind, but none of that mattered as she lost herself in the swell of his embrace. Deeper and deeper they fell together into an abyss where only he and she existed. Hermione let out an impassioned moan, as Draco's lips pulled from hers to suckle the curve of her neck. He called her name; she answered with another kiss, and they were gone. _

_When they broke apart she laughed at his shocked face. "My friends are inside," she replied finally. "But I'm out here."_

* * *

Harry didn't know quite what to make of it. In fact, his first question had been, "Are you sure that's Draco?" His second had been, "Do you think all our cases are going to end this quickly?" 

"It was a bit anti-climatic." sniped Hermione, who couldn't help but still be angry over Draco's cold greeting.

They were in Hermione's bedroom, where Draco was currently lying. He had not moved once so that he resembled a statue more than a man. A very battered statue.

"He looks too old to be Draco," said Hermione, examining the ugly scar that ran from his ear to his nose. It was not age in years that she was counting, however, although that was an issue as well. This man looked over thirty, whereas he shouldn't be over twenty-four. It seemed strange to her that she had not noticed any of this when she first saw him.

Harry had seen all the changes after one glance, and he had not known Draco even half as well as she had. Somehow that made her feel cheated, but rather than blame Harry for his quick eye, she cursed Draco for his spitefulness. It was all his fault, after all, and he wouldn't even wake up to explain everything. He had pursued her for months, had won her, and then he had dropped her. And he hadn't even answered those few letters she had sent him upon learning of his return. Letters into which she had poured her soul: _I love you, Draco. Where are you, Draco? Why don't you come to me, Draco? _

Hermione mentally kicked herself. He doesn't need to explain anything. It's all perfectly clear that he only came back to leave again. She didn't really stop to think why he had been wounded. To tell the truth, she didn't want to think about it because then her anger would dissipate. Her anger was the only shield she had against the whole situation, and it was vital to her sanity that it remain intact.

She had just started to get on with her life. Happiness hadn't seemed so unattainable, and here he was again. Wounded and helpless, lying in her bed with a peaceful countenance that belied her own turmoil. Hermione felt at that moment that she had never hated anyone so much as this man, who could play with her mind and her heart so easily and make her love him just by walking out of her kitchen. But when he woke up he would be that frightening intruder again, and he would tell her why she couldn't touch him, and why they couldn't be together. Perhaps to finish the job and make it _really_ painful, he would apologize. Then he would leave, and she would never see him again until the next time he felt like stomping on her heart.

"Does it hurt?" asked Harry quietly, as he watched Hermione glare at Draco's still form.

"How would I know? They're not my wounds."

He shook his head, and took her unsteady hand in his to strengthen her. "No, I mean do _you_ hurt?"

Hermione was ready with a firm negative, but she could not utter it. Instead, tears welled up in her eyes, and her jaw trembled so that she could not speak. But Harry gazed back at her with all the love and sympathy he could project before he took her into his comforting arms. He held her as she struggled not to cry. Gently, he ran his hands through her hair. When he pushed her away, it was only a few centimeters so that he could face her. Hermione was started by the love she saw in his face. She didn't think Harry had ever looked at her like this before. His closeness was overwhelming. Her breath came in little gasps as her heart fluttered. 

As for Harry, at this moment he felt that Hermione had never been more beautiful. He longed to say something wonderful that would make her pain go away instantly, but he was at a loss. The flesh of her cheek felt smooth against his roughened palm, and Harry was surprised to realize that he now held her face his hands. They were so close; he could feel her breath against his chin. Her eyes were focused on him, and shining with tears. Her lips were slightly open...he felt himself leaning without knowing what he was doing until their mouths just brushed. Oh, the sensation was wonderful! His whole world was wrapped up in Hermione.

But he stopped. What halted him was not a lack of desire, but rather the look of fear on Hermione's face. It brought him back to reality, and made him remember that the timing was horrible; he needed to sort out his own feelings; and above all, asleep or not, Draco was still in the room.

"I'm sorry," he muttered under his breath, before he brushed past her and out the door to the sitting room. Hermione followed him.

"Harry..." she called after him, and he stopped momentarily to collect his wallet and keys that he had left on the coffee table.

"I wasn't thinking. It's not you. Just the timing."

"I know," she said.

"I think I might have made things worse."

From the other side of the room, Hermione tried to smile at him as he hastened to tie his shoes and fumbled with the knots. Harry didn't seem to be hurt, just agitated and confused. As for herself, she didn't quite understand what had happened back there, but some part of her had wanted to take the chance to get revenge on Draco. More than anything she had wished he would have woken up and seen them. She felt a wave of pleasure at the thought of his shocked face. And how Harry would defend her, and tell Draco to go to Hell, and...Harry! He didn't deserve to be used that way. She felt ashamed by her behavior. Had she only invited Harry over because of some subconscious desire to piss off her ex? No, that couldn't be it. Maybe she did want Harry. He was nice and they were close, and it was only natural that they might feel some attraction. It hadn't been planned...did Harry know that? _Ugh!_ she screamed at herself. _Stop thinking so much!_

"Harry," she called after him as he stood, now finished with his shoes. Hermione felt the need for some sort of closure. "I love you, but..." Hermione couldn't say the rest because she saw the way Harry was watching her: like his only purpose in life was to love her. And at that moment she didn't feel as if she could never reciprocate the emotion.

In the end, Harry finished for her. "But this will never happen again," said he, shrugging it off so lightly that Hermione was disappointed by the speed of his withdrawal.

"Will I see you at the office tomorrow?" he asked.

"Give me a couple days," she answered, without really thinking about it. Her response had been automatic, yet it seemed to be a wise one. "Come over tomorrow if you want. Bring Ron if he doesn't have a date."

He nodded and pulled his wand from his pocket. "Well, good bye," he said. And he was gone.


	3. Tete a Tete

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Chapter III: Tête à Tête 

by Jenni

It was a bit too hot for cuddling, thought Ron as he tried to loosen the death grip his date had upon his arm. Linda was literally hanging on him as they walked down the street...or was it Laura? Linda. Laura. Lana? Ron's nose scrunched up as he tried to remember. Whatever was left of the inarticulate young boy, who couldn't get a date if his life depended on it had disappeared a good many years ago. Now Ronald Weasley was so busy with women that he could barely find the time to notch his belt.

Harry couldn't understand it. Loyal Harry, who would never intentionally hurt anyone in his entire life, except for that one girl near Brighton. And the other one in Coventry...and then there was Becky in London. Or was she from Canterbury?

"Ron, are you even listening?"

"Of course, Laura." he replied automatically, grinning when she hadn't become offended. He'd gotten the name right.

Yes, Becky had been from Canterbury. Hadn't she been one of Hermione's friends? She hadn't been too pleased with Harry about that one. The memory of Hermione's flushed cheeks and frothing mouth as she berated Harry for hurting her friend brought a huge smile to his face. Hermione was so funny when she was angry.

A twinge of guilt hit him as he thought that perhaps he ought to have called off his date and gone to see her. He had to admit to himself that she had proven herself to be quite a good actress in the past, and although she might have faked being fine, she was probably at home sobbing on the sofa.

But maybe Harry had stopped over. He hadn't seemed too convinced when he had left the apartment.

"You sure she's ok?" he had asked.

Ron vaguely remembered shouting 'yes' as he bolted upstairs to find a tie. He sighed. It wasn't that he cared more about his date than Hermione. In fact, he mused as he glanced the girl beside him who hadn't stopped jabbering since the moment he'd picked her up, that would be pretty much impossible. He was just a little tired of Harry's incessant worries over Hermione. The man was obviously in love with her and had been for some time, but he never did anything about it! Instead of asking Ron if Hermione was fine and refusing to believe whatever answer he gave, maybe Harry should get off his pale ass and go pay her a visit. They weren't children anymore, and Ron certainly wasn't going to go tell Hermione that Harry had fancied her since seventh year.

A shrill squeal reminded Ron of his whereabouts. "Oh, I know!" continued Laura, still thinking Ron was paying attention. "It was a dreadful business, really. Why would anyone hire a person who just stands at the register and stares at the wall?" 

Ron shrugged dutifully and smiled at passersby as if beseeching their pity. When he found none, he started wondering if he wasn't time to rethink his bachelor's life. Find a real woman and settle down...

As they were about to pass the Leaky Cauldron, they came in sight of another couple, who seemed to create a mirror image of Ron and Laura. The young man spotted Ron and shook his head knowingly and motioned towards his own babbling lady.

Immediately upon seeing her, Ron felt his cheeks go hot, and his eyes darted around in a frantic search for an escape. "Er...Laura, want a Butterbeer? Good, let's get one," he asked and answered for her, hauling her into the Leaky Cauldron as quickly as possible.

"Ron Weasley!" exclaimed the other man's date in outrage, but her voice was muffled by the swinging doors, and to Ron's relief the other couple did not follow them in, but just in case he kept glancing at the door

Laura gave him a perplexed glare. "Who was that?" she asked.

"Er...Linda." he answered. "If I remember correctly."

And that seemed to be an acceptable answer, so Laura said nothing further, nor did she protest as he led her to the a booth, albeit more gently.

"It's so nice of you to take me here, even after dinner and everything. I thought you were going to take me back to your place, except I don't do that sort of thing on the first date, and you have such a horrible reputation, but I don't see why, and aren't these booths nice?" said Laura without pausing for breath. "They're like antiques, but they're not stiff or uncomfortable. And look at this leather; it's vintage, and..."

Ron continued nodding until the sever appeared. "Two Butterbeers." he said, not even bothering to take his eyes from the entrance.

"Mr. Weasley!" cried the server, whom Ron instantly recognized as the proprietor. With feigned patience, Ron turned, wondering why the man was so agitated as he bumbled on.

"Did the Ministry send you, Mr. Weasley? Or is it Captain...or Major? I don't really have time right now, and I'm still paying for the losses, _which_ your office buddies never compensated me for..."

"What are you talking about? I'm on a date."

The man calmed down immediately. "Oh, oh, of course. I'm very sorry. It's just that I lost some business the last time someone from the Ministry was here. They closed me down for an investigation...some sort of illegal magic case, I think. I wish they would have left off; I'm still recovering from the losses."

Unfortunately for the proprietor, this statement only served to arouse Ron's curiosity. He went into instant detective mode, completely unaware that his date was becoming bored. "How long ago was that?" he asked.

"_Ron_," Laura hissed. "Why don't you let him get our drinks?"

But Ron pressed on. "When was the visit, and what was it about exactly?"

"About two months ago. So you want two Butterbeers?"

He caught the waiter by the wrist and stopped him. "I promise I won't close you down for an investigation, and I'll ask some friends to compensate you for the last one."

The proprietor took back his wrist with a humph, but he spoke. "They said they'd found some residue of Auror magic on the fringe of my grounds, and they closed down the Inn for three weeks while they poked about with their investigating."

Ron wiped his brow with his hand as he processed this new information. Malfoy last seen Leaky Cauldron two months ago. Auror magic two months ago. Malfoy is ex-Auror. This equates...

"I thought you were a private eye."

"What?" He felt irritated by the interruption, especially since he had been analyzing key information. Oh well, he'd need more details anyway in order to make any solid conclusions.

Laura watched him curiously. "You said you were a private investigator, but that guy said you worked for the Ministry."

"Oh." he said. "I don't, but he doesn't know that."

"So you're not going to compensate him?"

"No." answered Ron, absently.

Laura sniffed in irritation and inched away from her date. "That's not very classy."

When Draco awoke, it was not to pain but to the delicious feel of clean cotton sheets beneath his back, and one tucked loosely over his body. There must have been a window open as well, for he could feel the breeze and smell the dewy morning. Fresh sunlight, and not nightmares, had roused him from his slumber.

_Slumber?_ He gasped, and sat bolt up in bed. He was half naked! What time was it! He looked at his arms and chest, feeling horrified, rather than happy at his vanished wounds. Had Hermione treated them? Hermione...

He screamed for her, terrified that she wouldn't come, and furious at himself for fainting. He had been assured that nothing would go wrong, but he didn't know. An evil witch in the middle of Transylvania wasn't exactly what you might call 'trustworthy.' And nothing had worked before. The horrific image that haunted him flickered through his brain again. Hermione's open arms, the silk of her lips, and then the bitter taste ash. Oh God, he shouldn't have come...

There was the scuttle of footsteps outside the door, and Draco panicked again. What time was it? Where had he put the vial?

It was then that Hermione threw open the door, holding a strange stick in her hand. She must have heard the noise he was making. To his horror, Draco saw she was foaming at the mouth.

"What's the matter?" she asked, her eyes wide with concern.

Draco gaped at her.

"I was brushing my teeth," Hermione explained, her concern turning into condescension. She motioned to the toothbrush, and popped it in her mouth again, making exaggerated brushing movements for his benefit. Then, she stopped, and took it out. "Hold on, I've got to spit." She left for a moment, and Draco heard the sound of a running sink. A minute later she returned.

He couldn't stop staring at her. _It worked_, he thought. "You dressed my wounds." he stated in amazement.

Hermione's eyebrows raised, showing that she thought he'd gone daft. "Of course, I did. I wasn't going to let you bleed all over my floor."

"You're still alive."

She nodded slowly, obviously waiting for him to get to the point.

For the first time in years, Draco allowed himself to smile. It was a genuine smile of pure happiness and relief.

"Kiss me," he told her. But Hermione's eyes only narrowed. She stepped out of the room, and slammed the door shut.

Draco felt his elation vanish.

* * *

It was the first time, she realized, that they had been left alone together–both conscious and coherent–since the night he had left for Romania. The thought unnerved her when she compared that Draco to this one, who was sipping his tea as if it were some sort of miracle. She observed the way his fingers cradled the porcelain cup, and how he replaced it on the saucer with such reverence that it might have been a relic. Gone was that frightening specter of a man that had turned up from nowhere. He had been utterly replaced by this gentle image. Still, Hermione found the situation horribly disconcerting. She wanted to speak to him, and ask him so many questions: What happened in Romania? Who had done this to him? ...Why hadn't he come back sooner? But she was afraid of ruining the fragile moment. She still had to shake her head in order to rid her mind of that mental picture, the one of Draco's twisted face. _"Don't touch me!"_

"Are there any more scones?"

Hermione was startled by the question. "Pardon me?"

Draco licked his lips to clear them of crumbs before he asked again, without a hint of impatience. "I asked if there were any more scones."

"No," she replied quietly. "I gave you the last of them." And then they lapsed into their former silence. A full minute must have passed before any speech was attempted.

"They were very good scones," said Draco. Unfortunately, the compliment did not sound right coming from his lips. Not only had the old Draco never bothered with meaningless small talk, he had also never liked scones. Obviously, he was trying to win back her favor with little compliments, but Hermione would rather see Hell than let him wipe away all the hurt and confusion she had suffered just because he said he'd liked a bunch of lousy, store-bought pastries. But she didn't tell him that.

"Thank you," she replied without any trace of sincerity. Her own breakfast had consisted of a small roll and butter, and she had been finished for quite some time. Draco seemed to noticed this now that he himself was done.

"Aren't you going to work?"

"I have the day off. With you here, there's not really much to do anyway. Our case is sort of closed." She threw him a suspicious look. "Why do you ask? Did you have something more important waiting for you?"

"No!" he anxiously defended himself. "I'm glad you're staying...but I do need to go get something. Eventually."

There was a clatter, as Hermione stood and slammed her chair back under the table. She collected her dishes and took them to the kitchen, making a pointed effort to forget Draco's.

When she came out again, her heart fell. He was not sitting at the table. Had he left?

She took a few steps forward, and ran a hand against the back of his chair before pushing it in. A troubled sigh escaped her lips. _At least he came back for a while_, she thought.

All of the sudden two arms caught her around the waist and pulled her roughly backwards. Draco had not left at all, and now he was crushing her against the wall, with a frantic gleam over his face. His hands were pressed on the wall, one on each side of her head so she could not escape. Surprise at his violence became shock at the urgency of his rough embrace. Her heart beat faster as his lips descended on hers and kissed her so hard that she could feel the blood rushing to her brain. At first she tried to push him away, but her traitorous hands merely slipped behind his neck and pulled him closer. He sucked on her lower lip, and she groaned. Nothing mattered anymore. It was just like the first time; so wrong, and yet so full of fire. Damn the consequences; Hermione didn't care. She felt his hands push lower, to her hips, but just when she thought he'd take it further, he stopped.

He might have broken away to say, "I love you," but Hermione didn't wait. The pause was just what she needed to come to her senses, and when she regained them she also regained her indignation.

There was a resounding crack as she struck him across his cheek, the same one that bore the scar. Draco cradled his jaw, but he stood tall. "Why did you do that!" he demanded.

"Why do you think you have the right to come back here, and kiss me like that? You haven't explained anything, or apologized, or even asked me if I still want you!"

His gray eyes flashed. "I came back, didn't I? You wouldn't believe what I went through to get here."

"Try me," she challenged. But he didn't answer. No retort, no explanation...nothing, and it made Hermione uneasy. Draco Malfoy was never at a loss for words.

"What happened to you?" she asked in an accusing tone.

"I..." he started, but then he shut his mouth. "I can't tell you." Then, as an afterthought he added, "I don't remember."

Hermione glared at him. "Liar." With that, she brushed past him, and headed to her bedroom.

Draco was breathing heavily as he watched her bedroom door slam shut, feeling worse than a runner who had just run a pivitol race and lost. He supposed it _was_ inconsistent the way he treated her, but why did it matter? After all, she loved him, didn't she? They were together again, weren't they?

God, she had looked at him with such venom. The bile rose in his throat as he thought of how hateful she had been as she backed away from him, staring at him as if he were some vile thing that disgusted her. Staring at him as if she knew what he had done. In all his days of knowing her, he had never seen her look at him like that. Not even in school, or during the war when he had left and he had been stupid enough to tell her why.

He wondered what had happened in this world. Had she ever gazed on the Draco of the past with such hatred, or was he as perfect as he had appeared to be before his demise? No mark on his arm, no scar on his face. If _he_ had been at her flat that night, she would have welcomed him with open arms, and Draco knew because he had seen the happiness wash over her face. He had been desperate to feel her arms around his, but he had stopped her. It was only a precaution, but now that he knew it was safe she wouldn't touch him.

He had spoiled everything. _But I'll be damned if I sit around and feel sorry for myself_.

Draco took five measured steps toward her door, and banged on it with such a frenzy that it seemed the sturdy oak panels would shatter. "Hermione, let me in!" he bellowed.

"Why don't you just break in? It's obvious I have no control over the situation anyway!" she shouted through the door.

He sighed. "I would rather that you let me in willingly."

"Then I'm allowed to have free will now, is that it? Will I be able to touch you this time, or is that still forbidden?"

"I can explain that!"

"I already gave you the chance," she shot back.

Which was true, of course. Draco remembered now how annoying it was that Hermione was always right. But it didn't matter because he still could never tell her never tell her the details, and if he told her one thing, then she'd want to know the whole of it... "Hermione please! You can touch me. I'm sorry I ever said that. ...I was in a lot of pain!"

Silence. _So she's going to play that way!_ his mind roared. _She's going to ignore me!_ Draco hated being ignored. His fists pounded harder against the door. "LET ME IN!" he demanded with unexplained violence. "Why won't you let me in!"

"Why won't you let _me_ in?" she retorted without a sign of fear.

Draco let his arms drop to his sides, completely frustrated by the knowledge that he'd never win while she was in this mood. Well then, he might as well go get what he needed. Maybe then he could convince her to see things his way. He turned on his heel and marched straight to the front door of the apartment, stopping only to collect his boots and bloodied cloak from the closet. Then he left, letting the door slam behind him. Let her think what she wanted. He'd be back soon enough.


	4. Off the Scent

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Chapter 4: Off the Scent

by Jenni

_Her back stung as he pushed her against the door, and yet he hadn't been exceedingly rough. It was her wound that hurt, and she cried out in protest. Draco's ire abated for the smallest of moments at the sound, but he did not apologize. They were in her quarters, but her roommates weren't present. Eating, dancing? It was obvious that Draco hadn't cared._

_"Where were you this morning?" he growled. _

_"Let me by; I've got a debriefing scheduled." she pulled at the hand that was twisting against her upper arm. But, like a noose, his grip only tightened when she struggled._ _"You're hurting me." _

_He released her instantly, but his eyes held their gaze. "We were supposed to meet."_

_Hermione scoffed at his expression, so like a little boy's, who hadn't gotten what he wanted for Christmas. "Awww, was little Drakie worried?" She'd meant to tease him, knowing full well that Draco would never be worried about anyone but himself. Whatever this thing was between them, it didn't involve emotional concerns. Not in Draco's case at any rate. But the forlorn and somber countenance he now wore suggested otherwise, and in spite of herself Hermione felt...well, she felt moved. "You were worried weren't you?"_

_"No!" he said too quickly. "I just thought that'd maybe Potter and Weasley found out, and locked you in a closet."_

_She sighed at this overt denial. "They wouldn't do that."_

_"Oh, so they wouldn't do everything in their power to keep their saintly Hermione from cavorting with the devil?"_

_"They would, but you're not the devil, Draco." She brushed her hand lovingly over his cheek, the type of intimate gesture, which she seldom allowed herself to make. His mouth was curled into a pout. _

_"Am too." he replied, weakly. They both knew her caress had robbed him of his ammunition. "I see how they stare at me whenever we pass. It's not as if I care about popularity contests, but if they still hate me after everything I've done, then how am I to know they won't knock on my door after this goddamned war and drag me to Azkaban?"_

_"Why would they do that?" said Hermione in renewed exasperation, too flustered to give him the time to formulate a decent answer. Instead, she leapt to the defense of her friends. "Really, you underestimate them. We've been out of school for a long time now, and they're above those old prejudices. If anyone is still prejudiced, it's you!" She shoved him roughly away, and tried to leave, but Draco grabbed her by the hand._

_"Me?"_

_"Let go, you sod! I'm going to be late." _

_"No." he stated as he pulled her back towards him so she was crushed against the broad expanse of his chest. "Explain to me exactly how I'm still prejudiced."_

_"You're the one who can't get past all this. You're the one who's still clinging to his Hogwart's reputation of 'Playboy Extraordinaire.'" She wrestled with herself to finish her words, for she was aware of their closeness, and knew of her approaching danger. It was impossible not to be affected by Draco Malfoy. And their lips were so close! But she fought him nonetheless. "Why can't you just admit that I'm not another one of your conquests?" she hissed._

_"You are a conquest." he answered, pushing her once more against the door. Only, this time there was only a cry of pleasure as his hand reached under her skirt. "You're my greatest conquest, and I'm going to take my time with you."_

_"You care about me. I know because you were afraid this morning."_

_Draco pressed himself against her thighs, effectively pinning her to the door as he worked the buttons of her blouse. "Think what you want to stay excited." He kissed her again, but so quickly that she arched her neck in order to maintain the contact. Draco laughed. "You might want to apply your thoughts to yourself."_

_She ignored his words, even as she melted in his hands. The debriefing was long forgotten. "The mess sergeant said you were 'desperate' to find me."_

_"Your ridiculous 'raid' lasted a whole week. So I was a little needy," he moaned as she rubbed against his crotch. _

_Hermione moved her hands to the fastenings of his trousers, and undid them with a deft precision that came only with lots of practice. But she stopped short of pulling him out, opting to kiss his mouth instead. She nipped the bottom lip, playfully. "You thought I was dead." she stated._

_Draco could not deny it, nor could he deny that his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't undo her blouse. "Shut up." he told her before he kissed her with an urgency that displayed every emotion he had tried to hide from her. He took his aggression out on her blouse, and ripped it from her chest, satisfied by the sound of ivory buttons pelting the floor. The brassiere swiftly followed, and then her panties._

_Their breaths came in shallow gasps, in time with every dull thud of their movements against the door. Her fingers entwined in his silvery hair, and his pressed roughly under her thighs as when raised her up. As she kicked off her dress shoes, Hermione felt the heat of his tongue slide over the peaks of her breasts, replaced by a gentle suckling, and then the light scratching of his teeth_. _She moaned, arching her back as far as she could so she could draw him closer. _

_"Draco!" she gasped, as his mouth strayed to the curve of her neck, and he freed his hand for other purposes. _

_Over his head, Hermione could see her buttons strewn across the hardwood floor, and was dismayed to realize the state of her uniform. Her blouse was ruined, and her field gray wool skirt, now hiked up to her hips, was rumpled beyond belief and sticky with sweat. Among other things. But as she felt his hand brush the apex of her womanhood, she could not concentrate on anything else. _

_He teased the outer lips, and dipped a finger inside to test her readiness. Apparently satisfied, Hermione felt him shift in his stance so he could free himself from his trousers. She helped him by shoving the sides of his trousers downwards, far enough so she could stroke the creamy backs of his thighs with her feet. _

_"Do you want it?" he asked her, while at the same time asserting that it wasn't a question. He kissed her again before she could answer. _

_She felt his hand, no longer on her, but between them as he held himself at her opening. One quick movement, and they were joined, but he did not move. He had said he wanted to go slowly, perhaps to torture her as a punishment for the little no show stunt she had pulled earlier, yet Draco couldn't hold back. There was no witty repartee. No banter, no slow caresses. Only desperation and fervent desire._

_He moaned a bit, when she squeezed him with her muscles–a reminder of her need. But he did not respond right away. Instead, his mouth moved from her lips to her breast, then upwards to her neck...to her ear lobe, which he nibbled...and finally back to her luscious mouth. _

_He broke away to speak. "Hermione, I..." But his breath caught in his throat, for her hand had snaked between them to touch the part of him that remained outside. _

_"Sssh. I want you." she shushed him, grasping at his shoulders, his back...anything. _

_His jaw shook as she kissed it, and he could no longer hold himself back. He removed his hand, and placed it back under her thigh, supporting her weight as he thrust in and out of her. _

_The friction was marvelous, but what was even better was the revelation he had experienced this morning. "Oh, Hermione..." he groaned. "I need you..." _

Ron didn't like being kept in the dark, but that was exactly how he felt as he watched Harry open, search, and slam the same file cabinet for the fifth time that morning.

Finally the fear of his friend's wrath was overcome by his curiosity, and he ventured to ask, "What the devil are you looking for?"

Harry's head swung around, as if surprised to hear a voice other than his own frenzied mumbling. "Narcissa's address."

Ron's eyebrows raised. "It's on the desk." he pointed.

"Oh."

"Is this some sort of empathy for Hermione that you're expressing, or did something happen last night?"

"You might say that." mumbled Harry, now shuffling through the papers on his desk.

An exasperated Ron came to the rescue, picking up the little paper that had the address written on it in Harry's confident handwriting. He didn't seem to be so confident today. And what was this about Hermione? He had meant that as a joke... Oh well. Maybe Harry would cheer up if he told him his new information.

"I've got a new lead on this Malfoy case." stated Ron with pride.

But Harry seemed non plussed, as he studied the address. "The case is closed."

"What?" Ron exclaimed in utter disbelief. "But we just got it."

"I know, but Malfoy decided to appear after all." he pointed at the address. "Do you think I should wait for an hour or two?"

"Does Hermione know?" asked Ron, disregarding Harry's question. He knew on instinct that Harry was avoiding the subject, although he wasn't exactly sure of the reason.

"Oh, Hermione knew before I did."

There was a long pause as Ron weighed this new information. After finally making the right connections he slumped down into the chair, which only the day before had supported the quivering form of Narcissa Malfoy. "So," said he. "He was coming back for her after all."

"Correct. Right now, I suppose he's emptying out her pantry. Using her toothpaste, dressing in her nightgown. He's already sleeping in her bed."

"What!" sputtered Ron again.

"Oh, I'm was just extrapolating a bit. I'm sure he's not wearing her nightgown..."

"Not that." Ron stopped him, the irritation plain in his voice. He could see that Harry was upset, but as he pieced together the details from the fragments of Harry's rants, he was beginning to become upset himself. "He's already forgiven?" he asked, half incredulous. "And after all those times Hermione kept babbling on about how she'd never forgive him, and how she'd like to cut his bloody balls off before kissing him, and just like that..."

An angry sigh escaped Harry's lips as his friend trailed off. "Well, that's love for you." he stated coldly. "Everything's forgotten. Let bygones be bygones. Hermione isn't sleeping with him yet, but I'm sure she will...Of course, we don't know where he went or what he was doing, but we do know that he was badly wounded and that he's a right bastard. Anyway, I've got to inform his mother."

"Slow down...he was wounded?" As Harry pulled his wand from his desk drawer, and prepared to stand, Ron clapped a hand over the address. "You said he was wounded?" he repeated. But Harry refused to answer.

"What kind of wounds?"

"I didn't see."

Harry pulled the paper out from under Ron's grasp and walked to an open area from whence he could apparate.

"Wait!" cried Ron. "Let's ask Hermione. See, I have this lead, and..."

Harry cut him off. "The case is closed, Ron." he snapped. And Ron knew he couldn't argue.

Hermione had never felt so alone as when she heard the door of her flat slam shut. She had been lying on the bed in the spare room, feeling sorry for herself for a full hour before she heard Draco's exit.

The book resting on her night stand had a ridiculously pompous and thoroughly academic title, "_Magic and the Religious Divide: The Witches and Warlocks of the Tudor Period by Dr. L. K. Prentley._" Within its pages, she knew, awaited an unopened letter, which she had hastily placed there over a year ago without thinking about it. Hermione couldn't even remember why it was where it was. Perhaps she had been using the cover as a writing surface. At any rate, _Prentley_ had been replaced on the shelf, and she had not retrieved it since, dreading it and wanting it all the same. It was not a love letter, nor was it a letter addressed to her. Rather, it was one of her own creation, written to Draco and it had been meant to declare their affair officially ended and free him of any implied obligation. It had seemed juvenile before, during, and after its composition, yet Hermione had always intended to send it anyway. A great curiosity had possessed her to see what his reaction would be. Would he come to beg her forgiveness? Would he reply to her letter with one of his own, at once apologetic and sympathetic or would he laugh at her? Or worst of all, would there be the continuation of that hateful, uncertain and indefinite silence?

Yesterday, after she had finished dressing his wounds, Hermione had found the book again, and removed it from its dusty place upon the shelf. All night she had kept vigil over her lover, alternating her glances from him to the book which contained her letter, and all the time thinking of how she could throw it away.

But for some reason she hadn't. It remained where it had been, and the book now sat before her, still unopened. She reached for it and thumbed its cover, but Hermione didn't have the energy to actually read it. Besides, it seemed that her chance to destroy the letter had passed. Tonight all she could think of was how furious he had been, and then how his raving had been replaced with a door slam and emptiness. But she had also felt relief, as one feels who has been waiting for news of the end of a battle.

_How could I be relieved that he left?_

While wondering this, Hermione felt the tears come. Despite everything she had said before, she didn't want Draco to go. She understood this now. It was already too late for her to get on with her life, because she had seen him, and knew how much she still loved him.

_And I do love him!_ her mind cried. _I do!_

But she _had_ been happy for a moment. For a minute...for ten minutes? And if she had felt just that slightest touch of happiness at his departure, didn't that mean that her love had diminished? And if her love could diminish, perhaps it had never been love.

The thought was unbearable to her, for memories flooded back to her of a young man, staring down upon her with eyes so bright that she could see into the very depths of his soul. He was telling her he loved her, something he had never told her before. It was something she had never expected to hear from him, but he had said it! And he meant it, and she loved him back!

And suddenly, to lose that man... Hermione felt nothing could be so tragic or leave her so alone.

Yet, Draco had come back to her, and she had been glad to see him go. _No!_ _No, I'm not glad now. He's a little different, that's all. I was just afraid. _She gazed at the night stand again, but this time past the book, to the window beyond it as if beseeching some power to help her. _Let him come back,_ she pleaded. _Give me another chance. Let him come back!_

On some level she knew that he would come back, but on another she was convinced that he was gone for good. She'd blown it.

In this fearful state of mind, Hermione lost her pride. In fact, she was even able to recognize Draco's point of view...he _had_ kept his promise, after all. And she didn't know what he had been through, and more importantly with all the odd things that had happened to her during the course of her life, surely it was plausible that he _didn't_ remember what she wanted to know.

But why couldn't he trust her? He had never trusted her with anything. He was always playing the hero, protecting her from evil monsters such as "Useful Information" and "Painful Memories." Why couldn't he just for once stop treating her like broken glass?

Men.

Harry never treated her like that. See, there were some men who could be counted on...

She almost gasped as she saw where her thoughts were leading her. _No! I don't want Harry. I want Draco._

_I love Draco._

_I hate Malfoy_.

Harry was standing, not on the steps of Malfoy Manor, but in the doorway of Hermione's flat. He had first opted to go home rather than face the obsequious gratitude of Narcissa Malfoy that would certainly follow his announcement, but while sipping his evening tea he had experienced a fit of impulsiveness and had somehow ended up here. Perhaps it was the summer rainstorm that raged outside which made him so uncomfortable. Harry would never admit it to anyone, but he didn't like lightning. It reminded him too much of Voldemort and his killing curse. And Hermione didn't like it either, so perhaps she would need a bit of company.

Of course, Malfoy was here, but with any luck he was still be unconscious. It was strange how his greatest comfort was now packaged with his greatest source of upset.

Malfoy...with Hermione. Harry shivered as he knocked on the door.

A minute or so passed before he heard the quick shuffle of feet from within, and finally the lifting of the latch. When the door swung open he was facing a puffy-eyed Hermione, wearing rumpled pajamas, and holding a box of tissues. It might have been his imagination, but she seemed disappointed to see him, something she had never been before.

"Harry." she greeted. "Why didn't you apparate in? You don't need to knock."

He stammered. "Well, I just thought I should be polite. You know, now that...well, you know."

Her answer was not immediate, but she ushered him into the sitting room, and plopped him onto the couch. Then, with a sad smile she replied, "He's not here. We fought, and he left."

"Oh. I'm sorry." he said, more guilty about _not_ feeling sorry than anything else. "How long ago?"

She pulled a tissue from the box on the coffee table—now half empty--as she checked the old clock standing in the corner by the window. "He woke up this morning, and it happened after breakfast...seven hours? I don't know. I just know..." Just then her whole body began to quiver and her eyes, which had been threatening to overflow, finally surrendered again to the deluge of tears. Harry couldn't bear it. He moved beside her immediately, and took her in his arms, hushing her.

"Sssh. Shhh. What do you know?"

"I know he's not coming back this time."

Harry swallowed needlessly, and noted a bitter taste in his mouth. Perhaps, he thought, it might have been better to go to Narcissa. Comforting Hermione was much more difficult, mainly because every word of encouragement he gave to her would beat upon his own heart at the same time. Yet, as he held her shaking form in his arms, Harry felt he could not deny her anything. Not even the hope that the bastard would return.

"He is coming back." he managed. Then, he coughed as he geared up his strength. "I don't really want him to, and Malfoy never cooperates with what I want, so I'm sure he'll be back."

She laughed a little in response. "Don't make jokes. This is serious."

"What did you say to him?"

"Nothing," she choked. "I wanted him to tell me where he had been, and I didn't believe his answer. We fought, and then he left, and I didn't say anything." She buried her face in his shoulder and cried. "Harry, I'm so foolish."

"You're not foolish." He patted her head, forcing himself to remain platonic. Yet the scent of her hair, and the way she held him so close that she seemed to be afraid she would fall if she released him, and the sight of her so vulnerable left him weak. And it resurrected that gnawing, ever-present thought that if he had only spoken up before to tell her how he felt, and if only he hadn't felt so ridiculously guilty about doubting Malfoy, maybe everything would be different now. Who knew him so well as Hermione? No one. What woman understood his troubles better, and still loved him? No one besides Hermione. And he knew her; he had held her through every single trial of her life. They had comforted and consoled one another and saved each other's lives countless times. There could never be anyone else for Harry Potter if he couldn't have Hermione. And so there would never be anyone at all.

"How could I have let him go?" cried Hermione.

"You were angry," Harry replied softly as he continued to stroke her hair. "Knowing Malfoy, I'm sure you had a right to be, but that doesn't mean he won't come back. He still loves you or he wouldn't even have appeared, and he's not one to give up easily."

"He loves me?" she gave an acerbic laugh. "He needed his wounds dressed, that's all."

_Wounds_.

Harry had wondered why Ron had been so adamant about finding out what sort of wounds Malfoy had, but now that he was in a more rational state of mine it occurred to him that perhaps Ron's lead had been on possible attackers. At that particular point in time, Harry had figured any further investigation was unnecessary. But if Malfoy was loose again then ...

Unfortunately, he couldn't finish his thought, for Hermione was now sobbing into his collar. "He's...just...so...different...Harry." she managed between gasps. "I didn't...know...what to do!

"He said I was beautiful, but he wouldn't let me touch him. Then he wanted me to. He wouldn't tell me where he'd been, but he wanted me to trust him."

"Sounds like he has PMS."

Hermione smiled, and then she began to chuckle, and then that chuckle turned into genuine laughter. "You're joking again."

"I got a smile, didn't I?"

She nodded and sat back, letting out a cry of surprise as she saw the wet collar of his shirt. "Oh Harry, look what a mess I've made! Why didn't you tell me?"

Harry flashed her a dashing smile, as he found her glistening eyes upon him. Once again they were painfully close, and Harry wondered why it was that he kept getting into these predicaments. He brushed the hair out of her face. "It's not everyday I have a pretty girl crying on my shoulder." he said. But his comment went awry, for the mood turned somber again.

He cursed himself as Hermione moved off his lap, onto which she had somehow situated herself without either of their knowledge, and sat on his left.

She pulled another tissue from the box and blew into it. "He asks me to trust him...but I can't."

"That seems understandable."

"No it doesn't." she announced. "I always trusted Draco before. Always. Even when he was being a prat. Even when he didn't tell me everything..."

"Even when he didn't show up for two years?" Harry questioned, with the first touch of bitterness he'd shown all night.

It quieted Hermione. "You're right. I lost hope...maybe that's all it is. I guess I'm still angry with him for leaving without really explaining..."

He listened to her trail off, and watched the sadness return to her eyes. Then, with troubled breath, Harry ran his fingers through his hair, contemplating the same inner debate he had contemplated ever since the war's end. But as he saw her now, looking as if she might keel over from grief, he knew he couldn't hide his actions any more. "Hermione, there's something I have to tell you. I should have told you a long time ago, but I convinced myself that it didn't matter."

"What is it?"

"During the war...before Draco went on that mission, I might have said something..."

_KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK_

The rapping at the door shocked them.

"Hermione!" came the voice on the other side. It was Draco!

Harry looked awkwardly at his shoes, then the floor, and finally at Hermione's luminous face. The light that radiated from it was like poison to him as he saw that there was no more room for him in her heart. He stood quickly, and pulled out his wand. "I'll go... Oh, and I told you so."

"Good night, Harry." Then she leapt for the door.

Thanks to** Ronnie's Sunshine**,** Ch0COpuFf**,** Katt**, **Miss Perfect.ok mayb not**, **Sucker For Romance**, **thewhitediablo**, and **Hellbound** for reviewing! I'm glad you like the story.

**Icy Stormz** – I noticed that you put me on your favorite stories list. How flattering! I'll make it a point to read and review your own work. Yours was one of the first names I came across when I got into the Harry Potter fandom.

**Talula** – Hmmm. Well, Draco might get nicer, and then again he might just get more evil and possessive. Is it possible to do both?

**Serpent de feu** – Just for you, I added more sexiness.


	5. Midpoint

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Review more! More reviews! Icy Stormz, I will get around to reading your story, don't worry! I've been so busy with school starting up, and I can't really write when my roommate is around. (No don't worry. She's my friend, and not the evil sort, but she doesn't like fanfiction.) Anyway, I'm sorry you had to wait so long.

Chapter V: Midpoint

By Jenni

The devastation in the flat was as great as Hermione's regret.

The water marks from Draco's wet (and still damp) robes had seeped permanently into the cloth of her chaise, and there was a broken teacup, which had shattered on the floor after its plummet from her night stand. She swore there were scratches in the wood of her headboard from the class ring, still adorning her right hand. Moreover, her own body ached, and was caked with the unpleasant residue of dried sweat...etcetera.

Such had been the reckless coupling of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger, the full evidence of which she couldn't even see from her position on the bed. But the violent culmination of their passion had wreaked complete havoc upon her flat, and she could imagine the narrow swath they had created from the front door to her bedroom. When she thought of it now, in the clarity of the morning, Hermione decided she must have been delirious. She was already ashamed, no _mortified_ by her behavior. What had become of all her stalwart resolutions for caution? Only last night she had been telling Harry that she didn't trust this man, and now she had slept with him. What would Harry say if he knew?

Her mind worked quickly to find a justification, but in the end she could only blame it on the moment. Yes, that was it. Draco had come in from the rain; she had made the mistake of telling him to remove his robes. They were standing close; she had asked him to forgive her impatience. Then the strangest feeling had come over her when he looked up. It was as if she had time had reversed itself because at that moment he had seemed young again, as if the years had been lifted from his face. It had been dark, but she could see it radiating from his eyes, that stared into her own as they had years before. Suddenly questions and answers hadn't mattered anymore.

But it had all been a grievous mistake. Horrible, it was absolutely horrible for her to let things go so far! Now Draco was in the bathroom, a fact which she could tell by his obvious absence from her side and the sound of running water. When he came back, she decided, she would be dressed. Then they would talk rationally, and calmly, and with as much distance between them as possible, and...

"Oh, I thought you were still asleep." he said from behind her. Inwardly, she groaned before turning. What she saw in the daylight shocked her, and despite herself she gravitated to him and reached for his cheek.

"Your face...!" she gasped. "What happened to the scar?"

"Oh," he laughed. "Didn't you notice it last night? I did a glamour on it. Technically it's still there, just hidden with magic."

The gears in her mind began to screech as she realized the strange feeling that had overcome her the previous night had not been the result of the mood, but because Draco had done a cosmetic spell. She moved away from him again, until she was on the other side of the bed, standing, but clutching the bed sheet to her body. He, unfortunately, was stark naked, so she forced herself to answer him before he took her silence to mean something else. "I didn't notice, no." she said. "I thought you looked younger."

"I feel younger." He approached her, almost as if he was pouncing. He merely chuckled as she dodged the hand that grabbed for her cheek, and growled playfully. Hermione squealed as if she'd seen a snake in her bed, and skirted away. "Listen, Draco," she began.

"What's the matter?"

"...about last night."

"It was wonderful." he continued to ignore her serious tone of voice as he crawled off the bed, and descended upon her like a naked savage would his prey. However, Hermione did not feel aroused today by his dark looks, but afraid and trapped.

He was before her, but she held her hand up to stop him. "We should talk things over."

"I don't want to talk." he said, reaching for the sheet.

Suddenly, Hermione shoved him away, watching him tumble to the ground in a heap. His face exuded fire and brimstone as he glared at her. Playtime was over.

"I want answers, Draco." she told him plainly. She phrased the next few words in her head, working them over and revising them until they sounded rational enough to leave her mouth. _Ahem._ "Last night was nice, but it was a mistake. I just can't commit myself to you again in any way until I understand what's going on."

He ran a hand over his face, breathing deeply as though trying to calm himself. Hermione felt that he had never intended to tell her at all, and this perturbed her. She was ready to renew the argument, when he spoke.

"Is that all you need?" he finally asked, with obvious irritation.

She took a moment to consider this. Then, slowly, and with confidence she answered, "Yes."

"Fine. Ask any question you want, and I'll answer it."

Her nose scrunched up as she remembered something. "I thought you said you didn't remember."

Draco's temper flared, "Jesus, woman! Do you want to know or not!"

She inched to the chair on which his robes where hanging, and threw them to him. He reluctantly situated them around himself so as to provide a modest cover. "You swear you'll be honest?" she pressed.

"I swear." he replied, placing his hand patronizingly over his heart.

"Good." Then she licked her lips as she thought of a good opening question. Something easy, that would get his tongue rolling. She had conducted plenty of interrogations during the war–oh what she wouldn't give for a veritaserum right now!

"Who gave you that scar?" she started.

He took his time responding, making a great show of measuring his answer, but otherwise he was impassive. Finally, as Hermione was beginning to be impatient, he said, "A woman."

Her eyebrows raised, not sure if she was more annoyed that there had _been_ a woman or that he had given his answer as few details as possible. "What _kind_ of woman?"

"A good one."

Seeing that she wouldn't get any farther on this line of questioning, she moved on. "Why were you wounded when you came here?"

"Someone cast a spell."

"_Who?_" she demanded.

"A man." he retorted in defiance.

"Aren't you going to tell me anything!" she cried, throwing up her hands, forgetting completely about the sheet they held. They shot back to the sheet, luckily catching it before it fell. When she saw Draco snickering, she found herself sorely tempted to punch him.

"I said I'd answer your questions, not give you details."

Her eyes narrowed. "How's this for 'detail?' What was the man's name?"

"What man?" Draco wore a pernicious smirk. Hermione seethed from her place by the chair. She'd be damned if she'd let him get away with this!

"The man, who wounded you."

The smirk disappeared now, replaced by a few nervous twitches in his jaw. One hand fidgeted with the robe, and the other swept nervously through his hair. At first Hermione thought she might have pushed too far, but her stubbornness held through. He owed her this, and besides, this wasn't something that _should_ be difficult to answer.

"Was he an Auror?" she persisted.

"Yes." he said. He swallowed, and cleared his throat. Finally he looked up at her, managing a small degree of smugness as he spoke. "I did it."

Now Hermione felt torn between screaming in frustration, and expressing sympathy. If his previous replies had been vague, this one was utterly enigmatical. Her next question was more of a dubious statement. "You...hurt yourself?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"'_In a manner of speaking._' Oh please!" she exclaimed. "There was blood everywhere!"

"That's not a question." he pointed out, obstinately. _Willful to the last! _thought Hermione as she studied his icy expression. He didn't have the look of a man, who had just attempted suicide. She chose to ignore his comment. "Are you lying again?"

His flaxen colored eyebrows raised in mock offense. "'Again?'" he chuckled. "It's possible, but no."

Hermione hated that casual tone of voice. She wanted so badly for him to show some sign of emotion. _Is 'indifference' an emotion?_ she wondered, idly. "Fine." she said. "Why would you do such a stupid thing?"

"You want to know why I cast a spell on myself?"

"Yes."

He pretended to think about this for a moment. "And you probably want to know why I didn't use the counter curse."

Something in Hermione's head chafed at his self-assured statement. He was toppling the tables on her, and once again Draco was in control, the fact of which he was well aware. "_Who's_ asking _whom_ the questions here?"

Draco's lips pulled back into a smile, and he leaned casually backward onto his hands, and stretched his legs out so they were no longer covered by the robe. "Why you are, of course." he said, implying exactly the opposite.

Hermione tried not to notice either his tone or his nakedness. "So have you developed into some sort of masochist since we last met?"

"Oh yes. It was a torment trying to stay away from you."

_Such romantic words_, thought Hermione. _Too bad they were dripping with sarcasm._ "You said you'd be honest. Tell me why you did it."

Draco sat up perfectly straight. "_Honestly?_"he laughed at how she backed away, and stumbled against the chair as the backs of her knees hit the edge of the seat when he stood. "I wanted you back." he informed her.

"That makes no sense." she said, more confused than ever.

"There was a curse, Hermione. Voldemort did it. It kept me away from you for years, but I broke it." he stared directly into her eyes, but Hermione couldn't read the expression. She didn't know if he was being serious or not; all she had to go by was his word of honor that she didn't trust. He was still talking. "You want to know how I broke it?"

"By cursing yourself?"

He smiled. "Cause I'm a super hero."

That was it. The last straw. Just when she thought she had extracted something worth listening to, and made some progress, he went back to his usual habit of evading answers. _Always riddles, never the truth!_ her brain huffed. "You're still being impossibly vague, Draco!" she exploded. "I don't understand why you feel you can't tell me anything. You never did, but now you have _no_ excuse. You aren't performing covert ops now."

"And YOU aren't performing prisoner interrogations either!" he shouted back. "When I planned to come back, I didn't expect to find you so cold and suspicious. Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don't want to talk about the past? If anyone doesn't trust anyone here, it's _you_."

"Congratulations Super Sleuth Malfoy!" she announced, as she headed to her wardrobe. After she threw open the doors, she pulled from it a suitable skirt and blouse outfit. _No more of this,_ she told herself _I'm getting out of here_. She turned back to face him. "You haven't given me a reason to trust you. You're unpredictable...no wait. There is something you do on a consistent basis: You leave!"

"I'm different now." he growled.

Hermione slammed the wardrobe shut, and stalked to the door. "You're so different it's frightening."

"You just said I was 'consistent.'"

Hermione was crimson as she killed him with her stare. She was now holding the sheet in one hand and her outfit and hastily gathered underwear in the other. She was also trying to open the bedroom door while retaining some dignity. "Both are true." she managed to work the latch, and kick the door open with her foot. "Now you're a _scary_ bastard! I'm going to work!"

She barely made it out the door before she found herself crushed against it. Draco was pressing her hard against the wall, a ferocious gleam replacing his boyish countenance. "_We're not finished yet_." he rasped.

"I was just going to work." she whispered, suddenly aware that his hand was dangerously close to her neck. At any time he could push, and cut off her air...or he could just snap it. What was worse was that she actually felt he might do it. But her wand was in the spare bedroom; she was helpless.

His hands were twisting the flesh on her arms, and it burned like fire. "You're hurting me." she shook. Draco was staring right into her, his eyes and whole face smoldering with darkness and power, as if he were trying to win sway over her mind.

"You're coming back." he declared in a low hush. "I'll be here waiting." For several moments he kept her within his grasp as she trembled in fear.

Finally he loosened his hold, and Hermione bolted from his grasp, to the other room where she dressed in haste. She grabbed her wand from off the night stand, not pausing to mediate on the irony of her_ Prentley_, which sat beside it. The fright Draco had given her with his assertion was far greater than the security it should have provided, and Hermione didn't understand why.

Hedwig puffed out his chest with pride, when he noted that Ron had given him a whole slice of bacon, whereas the Ministry owl beside him had received only one paltry owl treat. The Ministry owl, on the other hand was quite miffed, and had barely scarfed down his food before taking off in a highly mortified flutter. Ron, however, was unaware of the owl's plight as he studied the letter which it had brought. From his father's office.

He smiled.

"Harry!" he called downstairs, even though he knew his friend wouldn't answer. Harry had been so glum lately; it really wasn't very fun having to watch him mope, so Ron had gotten in the habit of pretending Harry was in a good mood. And when Harry looked like he was about to kill something, Ron conveniently found some work to do upstairs. He continued to shout as he walked down the hall to the stairway. "Harry, it seems we've got another case! Harry, can you hear..."

As he passed Hermione's office, he noticed her blurred form through the window pane next to the door. A pleasant warmth passed through him as he observed her through the glass. He couldn't see much of course, but knew it was her. _Well then, she's back. Everything is as it ought to be...or it would be if Harry wasn't so dull._

He knocked.

There was a short silence before she answered. "Come in."

Cheerfully, he stepped through the office. "Hello!" he greeted. "I thought you were taking a few days off."

She shook her head almost sadly, and set down the quill with which she had been writing. "I changed my mind."

"No bother." he said. "I missed you. I had no one to regale with my tales of the lovely Lana."

"Laura." she corrected automatically.

"Whatever."

"Did Harry wise up, and plug his ears with wax?"

"Ha ha. No, he's just being awful somber of late. Say, you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"I might."

Ron didn't press. There was no need since he already knew everything. "What are you writing?" he asked off hand.

"Oh." she looked at the paper as if she'd already forgotten about it, and had to remind herself. "It's a letter to Mrs. Malfoy. I thought she'd like to know that her son is still among the living."

"Don't bother. Harry apparated to Malfoy Manner first thing this morning. She wasn't there. The butler told him she was in the Muggle part of London and was 'not to be bothered in any way shape or form.'"

"Sounds suspicious." she commented.

Ron shrugged. "Sounds like my father's territory. Oh, speaking of, he sent us a new assignment."

Her face registered immediate interest, and she leaned closer, but as she did so the sleeves of her blouse rode upwards, and Ron could see the blue-black hand prints on each arm. All traces of joviality vanished. "What are those?"

Hermione's look of confusion showed that she hadn't been aware of the marks, but understanding came to her soon enough. She blushed a bit, and then pulled at her sleeves, to cover the bruises. Ron narrowed his eyes as he saw this, thinking that she meant to lie. For some reason he felt that he couldn't listen to her excuse, and so he changed the subject. "Anyway, there's an object missing from the Museum of Ancient Magic. My father suspects that it may be in Muggle territory, but the Ministry isn't convinced."

Ron ran his tongue along his teeth, pondering the wisdom of asking what he wanted to ask. Judging from his own love life, maybe it would be for his own benefit that he didn't hear the details. Besides, if she had wanted to hide the marks, she would have healed them. A laugh almost escaped his mouth as it suddenly occurred to him where she had really gotten those marks. No wait, maybe he didn't want to think about what odd appetites in which the Malfoys might indulge. Finally, he decided to pretend he had never seen them, and as if she knew what he was thinking, Hermione appeared grateful. Ron felt he was becoming quite good at pretending.

"So," she said. "We're to look for this object?"

"Yes."

Hermione's nose scrunched up in that cute way Ron had always adored. "Your father isn't expecting us to do this _pro bono_, is he?"

Ron only smiled.

Hermione couldn't express how relieved she had felt after Ron exited her office. _He didn't ask_, she thought. When she had apparated from the flat she had been in such a panic that she didn't stop to examine the damage Draco had done. If she had seen it, she most certainly would have performed a healing spell, which is what she had done immediately after Ron's departure. Now, as she stared at the healthy spots on her upper arms, which a few hours ago had sported two large, mottled bruises, Hermione allowed herself to worry. What would Draco do when she got home? What would he do if she didn't come back? _Ha!_ she thought. _Give him a taste of his own medicine._

But that gleam in his eye had been so odd. She was certain that she had never seen it in him before. It was primal and dark, whereas she had always viewed Draco as being more smooth and seductive. She had felt the same thing as they shared her bed: devoured.

_Perhaps it was just the war that changed him_, she rationalized, thinking that here would be the end to her debate.

Yet, two hours later, at the end of the work day, Hermione was still ruminating over this. It was then that Harry stepped into her office, and by the look on his face, Hermione knew Ron hadn't kept quiet.

"Hello." she greeted, timidly. He said nothing, but walked to the corner to the right of the door and sat. A moment or two passed in awkward silence, as Hermione waited for him to speak. He was not looking at her, she discovered when she risked a glance. Without warning he stood again, dragging the chair forward to her desk. She could hear the legs of the chair sighing against the rough carpet.

Harry stopped just before her desk, and sat again. His legs crossed and uncrossed repeatedly, mimicking the indecisive movements of his mind. It was obvious to Hermione that he had no idea what he was going to say, but she was certain it wouldn't be to her liking.

At last he spoke, "How's Malfoy?"

"Good." she said in a level tone.

"Regained his strength, has he?"

"Yes."

"And you've...made up?"

Hermione tried not to blush. "Yes."

He nodded. "I've contacted his mother, but haven't been able to reach her."

Hermione pretended as if this information was new, and made a noise to show this. Silence once again overpowered the conversation, and Hermione expected at any moment to be bombarded with questions concerning the bruises.

But instead all he asked was, "Are you hungry?"

Hermione almost choked. "Excuse me?"

"Ron and I were discussing dinner. We could all go out, but of course Malfoy might wonder..."

"We can go." she said, too quickly. "It's not like he'd be worried or paranoid or anything. He's not like that!"

She became flushed as soon as she saw the surprise register on Harry's face, which was quickly followed by hurt. "I wasn't implying that your boyfriend was possessive." he clarified, with just a touch of venom. "I was merely suggesting dinner." There was a slight pause. "I know I haven't shown the greatest support for him in the past, but I _am_ trying, Hermione. It's not easy, you know."

Her lips were pursed in that superior, bossy way when she answered him. "I don't see how it is difficult to forget something as ridiculous as a school day grudge."

Harry's eyes locked onto her, suddenly so full of anger and disappointment that Hermione became unnerved. He leaned forward without looking away. "I'm not talking about a '_school day_' grudge." said he. "You are vastly more important than the Quidditch House Cup."

Hermione went pale as she struggled to respond. All those nights when she had caught Harry watching her...the times they had almost kissed...she hadn't realized how much she had wanted to ignore them until now.

Just then, Ron's voice was heard from the stairs calling to Hermione.

_"Do you have the file on the building health codes!"_

She gave Harry a nervous glance, before opening the file drawer in her desk and pulling out the correct one. Then she stood, and walked around her desk, and was about to head for the door when she tripped over Harry's feet, which he had not moved, and which she had been too clumsy to notice. The file fell on the floor, a few papers falling loose, and Hermione collapsed in Harry's lap.

He took her by the arms, holding them just where Draco had that morning, but he was not squeezing or shoving her against a wall. He wasn't trying to possess her, for she could break away at any moment. Somehow she was very aware of this freedom, yet how ironic that at the moment she could escape, she felt that it wasn't possible at all. Not quite of her own volition, she moved in closer to touch his lips with hers. The touch was like fire, but not the sort that rages, but calmer like a hearth. Tame and safe and warm. They barely moved until Harry reached to wrap his arms about her, but it startled Hermione into reality.

She broke away, immediately, rushing to pick up the fallen files. Then, before Harry could stop her, she was out the door and calling Ron. She did not return to her office for the remainder of the day.

Draco was dozing in the bedroom, dreaming of a Hermione from the past, when he heard the door slam, and the soft creaking of the floor as she made her way into the guest bedroom. There was a long pause, during which time Draco got up and entered the hallway, stopping by the door of the spare room, which in her haste Hermione had not properly shut. By studying the room through the crack, he could see the movements of her arms, and if she moved in the right direction he could see her head and shoulders. He concluded that she was pacing, and by the tumultuous nature of her gestures, he knew she was agitated. Curiosity prevented him from entering, for he knew that she would cease doing whatever she was doing as soon as she realized she was being watched.

"_Aaaaaaaagggh!_"Hermione suddenly screamed from within the room, with such hostility that it caused Draco to jump. He saw her dive for something that took her out of his sight, and then she returned to it as she hurled whatever she had grabbed into the waste basket. It hit the bottom with a furious thump, but it wasn't enough to pacify her so Hermione kicked the basket over, scattering its contents over the carpet. He saw her react with a cry of exasperation.

Then she disappeared, and when he saw her next, it was because she had ripped the door from his grasp, which caused him to fall into the room, before her and on his knees. She stared down at him dumbly, the tears on her cheeks still wet even as the ones in her eyes dried.

Without a second glance, she brushed past him, nearly knocking him off his precarious balance as she swept out the door and to the bathroom. Draco considered his options: He could go comfort her and most likely be struck across the face, or he could go clean up the damage in her room, and earn a few points. Being possessed of a good mind, he chose the latter option.

And so, he got to his feet, entered the room, and stood over the wreckage of Hermione's waste paper basket. Most of what had scattered was crumpled paper, but there were also messier bits, such as a broken lipstick and a cracked vial of ink. There was also a book, which seemed in as good a shape as could be expected of a book. The binding was fresh; the cover un-torn. Why it was in the garbage, especially considering Hermione's reverence for books, Draco couldn't tell. Yet he picked it up, and examined the title.

"_L. K. Prentley._" he read aloud to no one in particular, as he began to flip through the pages. He wondered idly, while reading the pompous first sentence, whether or not Hermione had decided Prentley was a piece of sheep dung. But as he continued flipping, he noticed a paper concealed within its leaves. No, not just a paper. A letter. _A letter addressed to me_.

Without pausing to think, he dropped the book, but tore open the letter. The writing was sloppy, obviously written at a frenzied pace, which smoothed out only towards the end. The ink was blotched in a few spots, from what might have been tears. It was dated over a year ago.

_ October 14, 2002_

_Draco,_

_My only hope in writing this letter is that you are not laughing at it, or subjecting it to the ridicule of your new friends, as I have heard them called in the paper. For over a year I have been under the delusion that you loved me, but now that I see you have forgotten me, I am resolved to give your memory the same courtesy. I waited for you as long as I loved you. I am sure you were not ignorant of my feelings, so as to why you allowed Rita Skeeter of all people to inform me of your presence in England there can only be one explanation. I don't profess to understand your reasons, but don't worry–that is if you ever had any concern for me at all–I am not offended. I know very well that men never keep their promises, but it is not a talent on which your sex has the entire claim. I too can break vows. _

_I don't love you anymore, Draco. As such, I feel it would be best if we forgot whatever we said in haste the night before your last mission. Best wishes in your new business enterprises, whatever they may be. _

_Hermione_

Draco was not fooled by the tone of the letter, but rather he was moved by it. Perhaps slightly amused that even when Hermione was most stubborn, she still splattered her emotions on a canvas for everyone to see.

"So," came her voice from the door. He looked up to see her standing with several wet paper towels and her wand. "You read the letter. What do you think?"

"I hurt you very deeply." he answered, as if he was only just realizing how much. It was then that he became aware of how strangely she was looking at him. He couldn't decipher what it meant, and that made him uncomfortable.

"Yes you did." she told him, without giving away her thoughts.

He found that it didn't matter what she was thinking; he couldn't help himself. Draco set the letter upon the night stand, and walked up to Hermione, who still was gazing at him with her dark and tired eyes. "But I came back." he told her, softly, daring to run a hand through her long hair. When she didn't resist, he drew closer. This was the reunion he had wanted and dreamt of for so many years. Her face didn't register fear or resentment anymore, but what he hoped was love. "I didn't mean to cause you pain."

And he kissed her.

Hermione let him kiss her, and let the feel of his mouth on hers erase the memory of Harry's. She tried to be caught up in it like she used to be–as if she would die if he stopped touching her–but now it was different. It wasn't even last night when she had just been happy to see him. Now there was the added fear that she wasn't feeling enough. That she didn't love Draco enough. What if this all was a huge mistake?

Suddenly Draco broke away from her, seeming confused...as if he could read her mind. His hurt was evident in his face. '_Why don't you want me?_' it read. Hemione realized she hadn't moved, hadn't even really responded to his embrace.

A red haze encircled her mind as she thought of how the romantic moment had been spoiled. _Damn you, Harry,_ she cursed. And what she did next she did without thinking, and that was to reach for Draco. Hermione pulled him back to her, not caring that she was doing it to reassure her own, and not his self-doubt. Nor did she care that Draco was trying to hold her in a tender embrace, for all she wanted was passion: instant and torturous. It was futile to love Draco with soft, ordinary, day-to-day love. That was Harry.

_Harry_...

She pushed Draco back to the bed, settling over him as he was forced to lie on his back. If he was startled by her urgency, he didn't say so. Their lips were still locked as she reached for the fastenings on his robes. She was about to rip them, when he caught her hands. "Stop." he groaned.

"Don't say that again." she said, not moving.

"No, it's just that...I'm a bit dirty." Hermione knew that Draco was aware of how lame his excuse was, but when she sat back she noticed that the scar he had covered on his face had reappeared while they had been busy. Despite herself, she felt a wave of disgust.

"Ok, go clean up."

She stood up to allow him off the bed, then followed his retreating figure until it disappeared through her door. The sound of running water soon followed.

Hermione did not allow herself to think, or fear, or regret, but spent the time preparing herself. She threw back the covers on her bed, stepped out of her skirt, and hung up her blouse. Then, when that was finished and Draco still had not returned, she walked around the room and turned over the various pictures of her taken with Ron and Harry. Finally, she pulled off her underwear, and slipped into the bed.

Just as she did so, Draco returned, still wearing his robes, but they had been unfastened and hung open so that his whole front was exposed. He threw them off, and hopped into bed so casually that it seemed like he slept beside her every day.

Hermione smiled at the thought, and that smile grew wider when a scarless Draco turned to face her.

"All clean." he announced.

"Good." she whispered.

For a long time neither one did anything; each was just content to stare at the other. She had her head on her pillow, and he propped his upon his arm. Hermione savored the feeling of secure affection that ten minutes before had seemed so impossible, and giggled innocently at his mint-flavored breath.

"You used my toothpaste."

"Do you mind?" he asked.

She smiled a happy, intimate smile as if to say, 'No.' Then suddenly she gasped when she felt his cool fingers touch her naked thigh. Their lips were achingly close, but neither moved to kiss. Instead, they fixated on each other's faces, watching as the heat of pleasure suffused them. Hermione had taken hold of her lover even as he began to gently caress her inner folds with his hand. She gasped and instinctively arched into his touch.

Briefly she released her hold on him to take the hand that supported his head and place it on her breast. He flopped to the pillow, now completely level with Hermione, who was trembling under his touch. Her lips rose to meet his, only to find Draco ducking playfully out of the way, and under the covers, replacing the hand at her breast with his mouth. He suckled the peak softly, then added pressure as she demanded it. His tongue swirled expertly around one pale areola, and then the next. But again, when she reached for him, he disappeared. He went lower this time, and Hermione couldn't help raising the covers to watch his silver head resting between her thighs. Only his hair tickled at first, but then she felt his breath, and finally the warm muscle of his tongue working at her entrance.

She still held the covers in her shaking hand, but her head had been thrown back as she moaned his name. Her legs closed around his ears. "Draco..." she whispered. Over and over again. "Draco, Draco...please..."

His tongue still moved within her, and his fingers inched up her leg at a torturous pace until he reached her apex. They had only to touch her and she came with a slow, lazy release. She was still enjoying the feeling when Draco entered her. His hair was tousled from being under the sheets, and some of it was sticking up, which almost caused Hermione to laugh. That and the concentrated expression he wore as he moved in and out. For his benefit she moved her hips to meet his thrusts for she was still wet, and enjoyed the friction he created. He cried out softly as he climaxed, and Hermione felt the stream inside her.

"May I kiss you now?" she asked him.

Draco was breathing heavily, but he complied, bending his head lower and pressing his mouth to her open one. Hermione licked his lips, and tasted herself on him. Salty. Warm. Familiar.

"I love you." she told him.

In response he buried his face in her shoulder, and if Hermione hadn't known him better she would have thought he was crying.

Ron thought it a bit odd the next morning when Draco turned up at the office with Hermione. He most certainly would never consider bringing one of his girls to work, but then he supposed it was all right if it was all right with Harry. But when he looked at Harry, he found him seething silently in his chair, and so Ron decided it would be best not to talk to either of his friends for the entire day. He felt all the wiser in his decision when he heard the giggles coming from Hermione's office.

But when Narcissa Malfoy walked in the door, Ron felt it was all more than he could stand. Her hair was disheveled, and not wrapped under the customary stylish shawl. There were dark circles under her eyes. She was also holding a familiar piece of stationery. Apparently she had gotten the message Harry had left with her butler.

"Where is he?" she cried, before either Ron or Harry could get out a hello. "Where is my darling boy?"

Ron swallowed. "Er...he's upstairs. But I think he's busy. I could go check."

But she went up anyway, with Ron and Harry trailing desperately behind. Well...Ron mostly. Harry sort of lagged.

"Really, Mrs. Malfoy!" cried Ron. "I don't think that's a good idea..."

Luckily, when she burst into Hermione's office, both were fully clothed. In fact, they were simply joking about something or other like regular old chums. Ron sighed in relief, as Draco's blissfully unaware mother threw herself at her son. Draco was alarmed to say the least, but accepted her embrace with patience if not eagerness. He didn't seem unhappy...

Harry appeared to his right, surveying the scene. "Ah. The touching reunion." he commented with the sort of disinterested tone that implied a great deal of annoyance.

"You do think we'll still get paid, right?" asked Ron, even as Hermione shooed them away with a less-than-discrete hand motion. She was still standing next to Draco, but she was looking as if she was trying to swat a fly. Ron pretended to be puzzled, just to give her a hard time, and finally she herself headed for the door, exiting and closing it behind her.

Ron and Harry had stepped out of the room shortly before, leaving the newly reunited mother and son to themselves. Having gotten what she wanted, Hermione wore a beatific smile, Harry seethed, and Ron wished for an excuse to get back to work.

For a while everything seemed wonderful, but then the silence in the office was replaced by an angry scream, then the sound of feet marching to the door, then the door was hurled open to reveal Narcissa Malfoy, almost foaming at the mouth.

"THAT!" she pointed to Draco, who stood helpless within the room, "IS NOT MY SON."

More author's notes: Don't worry. Draco isn't going sappy. Quite the opposite, actually…


	6. Only You

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Chapter VI: Only You…

by Jenni

Narcissa Malfoy had not paused once to let the effect of her declaration to sink in. Her wild gesticulations had continued in sync with her convoluted sputters. Her entire being had taken on a maniacal appearance reminiscent of Mr. Hyde. But her incoherent babbling inevitably came to an end, as she gathered her thoughts. "He is some sort of impostor!" she rambled on. "He has fooled all of you!"

Yet, with her haphazard looks and radical declarations it was difficult for anyone to take her seriously. Her words, that is. To Ron it seemed that her condition was extremely serious, and immediately recommended that Mrs. Malfoy be called a doctor. The others, though silent, were unanimous in their agreement.

Quite aware of this Cassandra effect which she was creating, Narcissa turned back to accost the man claiming to be her son, who was frozen in Hermione's office in a stance so still and fearful that he seemed a broken statue. She hissed something at him, which neither Harry nor Ron could hear, and certainly not Hermione, whose ashen cheeks showed that she had been completely lost at Narcissa's first outburst.

Ron was himself sputtering for an answer; however, he was more terrified by Narcissa's sudden transformation into a harpy than he was by her words. No, it was Harry who spoke first, and whose authoritative tone made it seem as if his were exact sentiments of everyone else.

"I think you're overreacting." he stated, calmly and darkly.

Narcissa met his gaze. "I assure you, I am not." But when she saw his dubious expression, her indignance grew. "A mother knows her own son!" she asserted more emphatically, growing hotter by the moment at his doubt.

Harry's jaw twitched, then he looked instinctively to his partners, who merely stared back with blankly. "Let's take this downstairs." he finally said, but when Ron moved to follow him, suddenly Harry cut him off from the stairs. "Take care of Hermione." he said.

Ron blinked. "But she's fine." he said, indicating that she had regained her composure, and in fact looked just as irritated as Ron did at being excluded.

Harry shot him a pointed look. "Then take care of Malfoy." he said, and it was obvious to Ron that he would not let him in on the upcoming conference with Narcissa.

Ron's eyebrows were raised in a challenge, but before he could say anything, Hermione touched his shoulder. Harry didn't even wait, but hastened down the stairs to his office, where Mrs. Malfoy awaited him.

Though he wasn't watching what was happening in the hallway, Draco could hear the muffled sound of a disagreement. He waited for it to escalate, dreading Hermione's reaction to his mother's outburst. Already he felt himself becoming angry at the doubt she had yet to show. He was composing answers to her forthcoming questions in his mind. He had little faith that she would defend him.

When the voices subsided, and he dared a glance when he heard the sound of feet descending down the stairs. Weasley and Hermione remained, eyeing him from their position beyond the door. The former was glowering, and as a result had turned a vibrant shade of red, which during their school days might have presented to Draco a perfect opportunity for ridicule. Out of reflex, he almost took it, but wisely refrained. He was completely at their mercy, and as such he knew it would be best for him not to speak. But he didn't bother to suppress his resentment at the protective way with which Weasley clutched Hermione's shoulder–almost as if he expected Draco to attack her. He resented the whole situation, and even Hermione for tricking him into this meeting with his mother. He hadn't wanted to come with her this morning, but for some reason she had insisted.

"_Please, Draco. I don't want to be without you for a minute." _she had begged. But now that he thought on it, he saw that she could have stayed at home and been with him. But she was still trying to get answers from him, wasn't she? After all, this was Hermione. She wouldn't give up after a few kisses and a heartfelt 'I love you.'

And his mother...Narcissa Malfoy. _"A mother knows her own son!"_ He almost snickered at the irony of her words. Of course she would have been the glitch in his plan.

Hermione was drawing closer, and Draco glowered at the floor. He was still waiting.

"What did you say to her?" asked Hermione at last. At that moment Draco was astonished by the lack of malice in her voice, and he looked up. Her expression registered a playful curiosity. It was then that he noticed Weasley was not glaring at him, but rather in the direction of the stairs where Harry had gone. And since Hermione didn't seem in the least accusatory, Draco's courage rose.

"Something about my work." he said, honestly. "I didn't know what she was talking about."

Weasley humphed an agreement, and said, "That makes two of us." But he offered nothing further, and instead kicked absently at the carpet.

Hermione watched both of them, wearing an oddly hesitant look on her face, seeming unsure of who needed her attention most. Draco was annoyed by this indecision, and on impulse reached for her hand. Hermione jumped a little at his touch, but smiled at him. At last she offered a weak, "Does your mother always behave this way?"

Draco paused, wondering how exactly to answer that. At last, he chose a flat out lie. "Yes. Life with father made her a bit paranoid." It sounded good.

Hermione remained silent for a while. Then, "I'm certain she had good reason."

"What does that mean?" he inquired.

She started a bit at the question. Then she nudged him a little, "You do remember your father was a Death Eater, right?" Then she laughed as if it was some great joke that he could have ever forgotten.

Draco's jaw clenched. "Of course."

Hermione nudged him again. "Don't look so grim." Then she stepped in front of him, and made her hands into claws and pretended to scratch at him. Her upper teeth stuck out over her lower lip, which she had curled under for effect. "I'm a Death Eater. I'm coming to get you." she chanted.

Weasley was pretending as if he was ignoring both of them from a distance, but to Draco's chagrin he began to laugh at his friend's act. This was most unwelcome, and his continued presence irked Draco, who merely slapped Hermione's hands away. He didn't want to be teased in front of people.

"Stop it." he commanded.

But she didn't. She continued to hulk around him. "Join me, and we will rule the world. Together with our skeletal like builds, and our decaying, evil buck teeth we will be unstoppable!"

Draco batted her away again. "Good God, Hermione, we're not vampires."

Draco saw Weasley stiffen across the room, suddenly paying far more attention to the conversation than he felt was necessary. And even Hermione seemed suspicious. Her hands had dropped, and her eyebrows were raised at that curious angle. "'_We?'_"

Draco almost panicked. He almost babbled out some horrifying and completely unbelievable excuse before his quick thinking saved him. Instead, he seized her around the waist and pretended to bite her. "But we_ are_ flesh-eating zombies!" he exclaimed. " Death Eaters unite! Together we will devour Ms. Granger."

Weasley coughed from across the room. Then he stepped outside, and Draco followed his retreating form with narrowed eyes over Hermione's shoulder.

When Harry found Narcissa, she was pacing by the chair. Harry quietly shut the door, and walked to his own seat behind the desk. "Now," he began, adopting his most professional tone, "You have some complaints?" When she didn't answer he stood, leaned over the desk, and straightened the chair. "Feel free to have a seat."

Narcissa plopped dutifully into it. "I was so excited when I got your message." she was shaking noticeably, but Harry had resettled into his own chair, and was not about to move in order to stop her. "I came as quickly as I could...ruined my hair apparating too quickly...I wanted so much to believe..." she broke off into a wail. "What could have happened to _my_ Draco!"

Harry merely folded his hands. "What makes you think he isn't Draco?"

"Can I have a tissue?"

Fighting the desire to sigh, Harry pulled his handkerchief from his pocket. It was a good thing Sirius had warned him about the necessity in this business of carrying one at all times.

She took it from him with a muffled 'thank you, ' and proceeded to blow her nose as slowly as possible. She sniffed. "He certainly looks like him, and talks and moves like him." And she stopped to dry her eyes.

"But?" Harry could barely hide his impatience with her now, feeling as one does when he reaches a pivotal moment in a novel and finds a missing page. He felt as if Narcissa was attempting to set him up, trying to pique his interest for some reason that he didn't understand. Somehow, this must be a set up that Malfoy had planned well in advance just to mock him. It couldn't be true that he was being given another chance. Harry didn't want to believe it, but just to be done with the whole thing. He had lost; Hermione loved Draco. He wanted to let things be.

But he also wanted to know what Narcissa did. "But...?" he urged her.

"Well," she said, meekly. "...he didn't know things."

"His memory could have been wiped."

"But he knew everything else."

"You weren't in there very long, Mrs. Malfoy. I'm certain you didn't have the time to ask him _everything_."

Her eyes flared at this. "Are you suggesting that I am lying to you, Mr. Potter? _I_, who have more reason to suspect you than anything else. How am I supposed to know that you haven't concocted this false Draco in order to collect on your payment a bit early?" She threw the handkerchief onto his desk, unconsciously issuing her challenge as her eyes bored into his. Harry felt himself effectively silenced, knowing she was studying him. Finally she spoke. "No, I choose to trust you, although you must swear you will keep what I say strictly in the office."

"I swear." he hastened to reply. When Narcissa's eyebrows arched in disapproval at his too-rapid reflexes, Harry became aware of how unprofessionally he was behaving, and moved to correct himself. "What is said in this room will only be repeated to my two partners. Everything in these meetings is kept confidential, Mrs. Malfoy, but if you need me to give my word then you have it."

"None of your other connections must hear. Especially not your Ministry connections."

"Of course not."

"All right." She folded her hands in her lap, nervously, before beginning. "Have you ever heard the Liber Gratiae?"

Harry's cheek twitched in recognition, and he smiled. "It was in the Ministry Archives last I heard."

"What about the Catalogues of Counter-Curses?"

"I studied that in school."

"History of the Dark Arts?"

"Yes..."

"What about the _Logoi Ergon_?"

Harry paused. "No. What does this have to do with anything?"

"Draco was obsessed with that book." she answered. "All of those books, but that one in particular. He did everything he could to get it."

"Everything?" repeated Harry, growing more interested despite himself.

"Yes. When Draco returned from Romania, he was obsessed with these books, particularly with something called the _Logoi_. He wouldn't tell me what he needed it for, but he was desperate. One day I walked in on his private study; it used to belong to Lucius, so I knew the passwords. I don't think Draco was aware of that. I saw maps of Muggle London sitting on his desk. At first, I didn't think anything of it; we've traded on the Muggle stock market ever since the end of the war."

"Why?"

Narcissa stared up at him as if he was stupid. "Unlike you, Mr. Potter, my son and I lost everything in the war. It was the only way for us to maintain our image." She rearranged her dress and sat straighter so that she resembled either a cultivated lady or a badly assembled mannequin. Harry wasn't sure which was closest.

"At any rate," she continued, "It was then that I noticed he had one particular address circled. When I examined it further, I found the number of a Muggle pawn shop. It was then that I forced him to tell me that what he was doing was illegal. It didn't matter. I couldn't stop him. But two months ago his search seemed to have ended. He told me he was leaving to find one last thing." She stopped to whet her lips, and then looked directly into Harry's eyes. "When I saw him today I asked him about it...he didn't know what I was talking about."

Harry leaned back. "That still doesn't mean anything. Maybe he thought we were listening. Maybe, despite what you think, he memory _was_ wiped."

"Why are you so anxious to close this case, Mr. Potter?" she asked, suddenly more self-assured than Harry would have liked. "Is the money so necessary?"

His eyes narrowed. "It's not about the money, and it's not about me. Your son is upstairs. Whatever ordeal he has or hasn't been through in the past two months doesn't matter because he's happy, and you don't have the right to destroy that..."

"Since when have you cared for my son's happiness, Mr. Potter? I've been told on more than one occasion that you despised him."

Harry shot from his seat, and walked to the window that overlooked the street. Narcissa, however, didn't stop for breath.

"You don't understand Draco." she cried. "No one in the Ministry does, and that's why we've been stepping on glass ever since his father died. You don't know what sort of obsession it would take for Draco to go against the law like he did. For years all he's wanted is the sort of approval you receive in a heartbeat. But he got that book on the black market; I'm sure of it. Anyone could have caught him...like Arthur Weasley. He's wanted revenge for years because of my husband."

"That's not true." warned Harry. "We don't have _that_ sort of cold, calculating manner."

Narcissa huffed. "Listen, I'm not really concerned with old grudges. But Draco wanted that book for something. He wouldn't tell me the details, but he was obsessed. There were weeks when I didn't even see him because he'd be sitting in his private study, trying to think of leads." She folded her hands tightly over her lap. "How is it that a man can forget something so important?"

Harry stalwartly refused to face her, but kept his eyes on the street outside. He heard the sound of Narcissa scooting her chair back, and knew she was getting up to leave.

"That man is not my son. You can look for the real Draco or not. I'll give you the promised sum when you find him, but you can forget my good reference."

Harry said nothing in reply, but waited until he heard the click of the door unlocking. "Good bye, Mrs. Malfoy." he said, as if nothing had happened.

The door slammed at her departure.

_The musky scent of the evening air was refreshing after a day of long briefings and claustrophobic camp life. They were sitting near the water line, on the slope with the old willow tree, enjoying their peaceful moment. Nevermind that the lake was supposed to be off limits. Nevermind that they were missing dinner at the officers' mess, or the fact that they weren't supposed to be together._

_Hermione leaned into Draco, who sat behind her with his legs splayed about her own. He in turn reclined against the trunk of the great willow tree that stood sentry at the head of the lake. It was not yet sunset, and therefore not yet time to retire. Nor was the closing day of any notice to them, for they were busying themselves with talk of wars and the patterns of history. _

"_Muggle wars are very different from this." said Hermione, responding to Draco's earlier comment. _

_He smiled against her hair, worn down at his request. "How would you know?" he asked. "Have you ever been in one?"_

"_No, but that doesn't make it any less true."_

_He considered this. "The only problem I have with your statement–and it's a big one–is that I don't believe wars are ever different. They're all over the same petty causes. Territory. Resources. Power."_

_She poked him. "Draco the Pacifist." she teased. "Surely you don't believe all wars are petty."_

"_This one is."_

_Hermione shook her head. "I don't want to believe that. I want to be fighting for a good reason."_

"_We are, but the entire struggle began with one man's thirst for power. See? It's the same as it always is." _

_She turned a bit so she could look at him, but the angle was wrong, and she could only see the top of his head. Draco laughed a little before he bent low to kiss her on the forehead. _

"_If we were in a Muggle war, we wouldn't be sitting together right now." she said. _

_He gave her an odd look as if to say, 'Of course!' _

"_No," she began to clarify, "I mean we wouldn't be allowed to be together. You'd be stuck in a trench or something, and I'd be sewing socks. Or perhaps they don't do that sort of thing anymore..."_

"_Sew socks or fight in trenches?" _

"_Both." _

"_How is it you don't know?" he wondered aloud. _

_Hermione was quiet, but the silence was not sad. Her voice took on a wistful quality as she answered, "I haven't been home in a while. I've forgotten how to be a Muggle." she reached up to touch his golden hair with her hand. "It's funny. My parents don't know anything about You-Know-Who. The war hasn't so much as touched them."_

"_A good time to be a Muggle." commented Draco, dryly._

"_But not a Mudblood." _

_Draco's posture stiffened against her back, and Hermione regretted what she had said, though she couldn't help feel satisfaction that the term was now more upsetting to him than to her. As if to reassure him, she wiggled a little, and pulled his arms closer around her. But the tightness of his muscles did not change. His breathing felt almost pained against her back, and she knew he was thinking of the attack three months before. The one in which Seamus had died...and had been horribly mutilated._

"_I would kill anyone who touched you." he swore. Yet Hermione, uncomfortable with the solemn mood that had smothered their outing, merely pushed her hand under his, where it lay against her outer thigh._

"_You touched me. Guess you're out of luck, Malfoy. My boyfriend's going to murder you." _

_He didn't laugh. "Don't joke! This is serious."_

"_I know." she retorted, "But that doesn't mean I have to spoil our evening over it."_

_She wrested herself from his arms in order to turn around and face him properly. His gloomy face only served to amuse her, and she cupped a hand over his cheek. "Such dreary looks_." _she reprimanded him. "You brood like a Death Eater." _

"_Stop playing, Hermione!" he warned, trying his hardest not to raise his voice._

"_You're right, I'm sorry." she apologized. But she couldn't help herself. "I wonder, would you have loved me as a Death Eater?" _

_Draco was shocked, as his grey eyes met hers. "Would _you_ have loved me as a Death Eater?"_

_Hermione was stunned by the coldness in his eyes, and her hand sprang away. But he caught it. "I'm not a Death Eater. I'm here now, and I love you." _

"_Do you?" she asked, still teasing._

"_I could never not love you." Then he looked far away, and added, "I would never hurt you. Not in a million years. Not ever."_

_Hermione smiled. "I'm sorry I said that. I should know better."_

_He didn't contradict her. "I could have been one, you know."_

"_You told me that."_

_Draco kissed the top of her head. "No, not during Hogwarts. They came a few months after my father died. They still wanted me, or at least You-Know-Who did... He seemed to think it was funny that I'd turned traitor." _

_Hermione remained silent, uncertain of what to say, but touched that he was opening up to her. This was new information. _

_Draco continued, "But the really funny thing is that I actually considered it."_

"_What?" she exclaimed suddenly, bolting up so quickly that she almost tore herself from his arms. "Why?"_

_However, he knew her well enough not to take offense. He merely smoothed a few strands of hair back from her face in order to tuck them lovingly behind her ears. "When you first saw me in uniform, what was your_ _initial reaction?" he asked, redirecting the conversation to a clearer path._

_She didn't quite understand, but answered anyway. "I was a little surprised, but that's only because you had said once that you didn't believe in causes."_

_He smiled a little at her innocence. Hermione was so trusting of everyone. "Well," he said, "every other person thought it was some horrible mistake. I've proven myself now, of course, but there was a time when I didn't think I ever would. You-Know-Who caught me at that moment."_

"_But he didn't succeed." Hermione kissed him softly on his smiling mouth._

"_No." was his content reply. _

Hermione was watching Draco nap on the couch in her office when she heard the beginning of an argument downstairs. Or perhaps it was the climatic conclusion of one. Ron and Harry, of course. It had been roughly two hours since Mrs. Malfoy's abrupt departure, but obviously not enough time had passed for Ron to calm himself. She rolled her eyes and returned her attention to the paperwork sitting on her desk. Except there wasn't very much paperwork, and so Hermione was at a loss for what to do. She could stare at Draco, perhaps.

So she did. And found herself troubled.

His face was buried into one of the couch pillows, with one arm splayed over the back, and the other hanging on the ground. Something about this position annoyed her, but Hermione couldn't explain the reason. Nor could she remember why she had asked him to come with her...oh yes, because of Harry. _Poor Harry_, she thought to herself. But she forcibly pushed him from her mind, and concentrated instead on Draco's handsome features. His silvery-blonde hair, and his chiseled nose, and the eyes were closed, but she knew they were gray, and then his hands were nice, and so were his feet, and... Hermione stopped when she realized her study resembled an inventory list.

_Item #1: Draco Malfoy_

"Poor Draco." she said aloud, without knowing why.Her hands fiddled a bit with her quill, and then she put it down, and then flopped onto her desk, leaning her head against her folded arms. Her head was on its side, so she could still see Draco lying on her couch. Her ears were uncovered, and so she could hear Harry's muffled voice from below. What was he saying to Ron? Were they discussing what Narcissa had said? Had they felt as alarmed as she had in that moment? _It's so ridiculous to worry_, she reassured herself. _He can't not be Draco! It's impossible. _Hermione thought they wouldn't have even considered reopening the case. After all, Draco was lying on her couch. He was flesh and blood, and _here_. It occurred to her that Harry might be suspicious, but Hermione knew he could never be so vindictive. _They won't reopen the case_. ...But what if they did? Hermione couldn't help but feel curious if they could find anything concerning the mysterious events Draco refused to relate to her.

Still, Harry wouldn't do that to her, and so she dismissed the thought. Even if Harry was in love with her, he would rather die than cause her pain. He would see this case as something from which she needed protection, most likely because he suspected Draco himself. Those were just the sort of warped heroics she expected from Harry.

But this time she would let him protect her.

It had occurred to her that there was something wrong with equating the re-opened case with losing Draco. It implied that there was another Draco to be found. But Hermione chose to concentrate on something else. Anything else. Consequently, she found her attention drawn to the growing debate downstairs. She released a trembling sigh, which was stifled against her arm. "Poor Hermione." she whispered.

She heard Ron scream something inaudible, followed by, "I'm leaving!" A door slam from downstairs made her wince.

_I had better go see_, she thought. A quick glance at Draco and she saw that he hadn't been disturbed by the argument. She stood up, and headed for the door, when she stopped. After hurrying back to her lover, she leaned over him in an attempt to kiss his cheek, but at that moment his eyes opened. He blinked once or twice, before he focused on her.

"Good morning." she smiled.

His eyes widened a bit. "What time is it?"

Hermione pointed at a clock hanging from the wall. "Just a little past noon. Have a good nap?"

"I've got to go to the bathroom." he said, and stood so hastily that Hermione almost felt slighted. And also confused... "You just went an hour ago." she half stated, half-asked.

Draco merely shrugged, and headed for the door.

She watched him walk out, curious, and left for Harry's office.

"You're not a dictator, Harry, and I'll be hanged before I let you ruin this business!"

"I'm not ruining it, Ron! I just don't..."

Ron cut him off. "But you're dictating, and it's a bad habit, Harry. You're not the hero anymore, Harry; and you're certainly not my boss!" He opened the door in an exaggerated fashion, and took an even more exaggerated bow. "I'm leaving!" Then he was out, and the Harry's door was slammed for the second time that day.

For a long time Harry remained motionless at his desk, unsure of whether he should lash out or retain his demeanor. After a minute or so passed, Harry felt he could do neither. He wasn't angry, yet he wasn't calm. Ron had posed a good argument, if not a quiet one. Narcissa's stamp of approval was vastly important for the business. And supposing they complied to her wishes, they could at least discern from further investigation what might have caused Draco's disappearance. Perhaps an interrogation of the man himself might work, although if Harry knew Hermione he knew she had probably already tried that.

The real reason that he didn't want to reopen the case was that he strongly suspected Narcissa was telling the truth. And how would he possibly explain that to Hermione?

After a minute or two of restless finger drumming, Harry saw that he could get nothing more done in his office. He decided he'd be better off brooding at home. Grabbing, his briefcase and suit jacket, Harry exited his office quietly and slipped out the back door of the building. The gloominess of the alley, left over from the Industrial Revolution era, had never bothered him until today when the darkness and isolation seemed to creep in through his skin. Nevertheless, this way was closest to his flat, so he ignored it.

Harry was halfway down the back alley when he heard Hermione's voice. "Leaving already?"

He halted, and turned to find her standing on the steps that led up to their office. He noticed with dismay that the shadows covered her too. He could barely see her face. "Yes, well, Ron and I decided to call it a holiday," he shouted, before coming back.

"Don't I get one too?" she joked.

He regarded her with accusation, thinking of her staying up late to nurse Malfoy back to health. "You've already had one."

Hermione didn't permit an uncomfortable silence. "Were you and he arguing over what Narcissa said?"

"Oh, it's the old argument resurfacing again. You know how Ron thinks I leave him out of things."

"Well, you do..."

"Not this," he interrupted her. "Or what I mean is that I don't mean to disregard his opinion. I simply don't see that there is any more we can possibly do to find someone we've already found."

Hermione took a moment to prepare her argument, or perhaps she was just considering the wisdom of continuing the debate; Harry wasn't sure.

"It doesn't matter whether he is or isn't Draco Malfoy," she replied at last. "We can always find more evidence that he _is_ Draco, even if we already know. You could work on convincing his mother. We do need her patronage, Harry. Ron and I don't have gigantic inheritances."

"Neither do I anymore," he snapped. "I've put just as much into this as you two have. Maybe more. My entire inheritance!"

"But we're partners. You can't disregard us every time you think there's no hope following a lead."

"But Ron is in the minority. It's him who shouldn't disregard _us_. He thinks we should keep looking, and we don't."

Hermione stared at him, and her cheeks turned a bit red, and her mouth moved without producing sound. The way she played with her hands when she was trying to lie. Then it hit Harry that maybe she wasn't entirely sure of Malfoy's identity either.

"Surely you don't agree with Ron!" The thought of Hermione doubting her lover and turning her back on him was almost too much to hope for. It was a bright, shining beacon pointing to a future that in the past Harry had all but given up. It was too much. She would dash his hopes; she would break his heart.

"No!" she protested. "But we could at least pretend to look."

But Harry knew what she was really thinking. Hermione never could lie to him, and yes, he could see her doubts. He could feel the happiness threatening to burst over him...and so he did the only thing he could. He got angry.

Harry glared at her. "It's a waste of time, Hermione." he warned.

"No it's not." she urged. "We could still find something that's been missed...some small detail. I don't know! I need answers to my questions that Draco won't provide. I don't understand him, Harry. Why won't he trust me? He won't...he won't even speak to me in a way that I can remember why I loved him so much."

She looked lost to Harry, but at the moment he was indifferent. She loved Malfoy? She wanted more proof that he was Malfoy, so she could be free to love him more. And then he would have to stand by and see them flirt with each other. He have to go to their wedding and watch over their children. Maybe take them to the park or the Quidditch Pitch and see them grow up to be exact copies of their mother and father; all the while knowing, _feeling_ in his gut that they should have been his. And he would put up with it, and not abandon Hermione. He'd change her children's diapers and drink beer with that stupid bastard. And why? Because he loved Hermione. And he wanted her to be happy; and she would be unhappy if her best friends wouldn't accept the love of her life.

He wanted to scream at her. How dare she ask him to reopen the investigation? Didn't she have enough as it was without dragging him into it. He could be content to watch from the sidelines, but now he was supposed to help. Harry Potter was supposed to play matchmaker between Hermione and Draco Malfoy. Impossible!

How could she have left the other day without talking about what had happened between them? How could she have forgiven Malfoy so quickly, after everything he had did...after she had told him a thousand times that she wouldn't? She had lied to him!

"Harry," Hermione came to him, placing her hand on his chest to try to bring him back into reality. Harry peered down at her beautiful, familiar features, and for the thousandth time tried not to kiss her. Her breath didn't smell like muggle toothpaste, and her lips didn't look kissable and her perfume wasn't intoxicating. And most importantly, she was not the most beautiful creature that he had ever laid eyes on.

"So he didn't tell you anything about why he left, did he?" he asked, suddenly curious.

"He said he was going on a mission. I assume it was Romania, but I never was certain." She was moving closer, maybe even standing on her toes to reach him. Did she feel it too? The heat between them, and the potential for something grand.

"No, I mean, did he ever tell you who er...well...nevermind," Harry stammered and broke the mood. Hermione lowered herself onto the flats of her feet again. An inch further away than before.

But she was still too close, so he pushed her away. "Maybe if you doubt him no, then you're in love with a ghost. Maybe the man upstairs isn't the Draco you loved and you know it, but I can't be a part of this mess. I feel too much..."

Their eyes met as he trailed off, hers desperate and his storming. "But I'd rather not lose you to a memory," he finished.

Hermione released him. "I love Draco, and I always will." she said. "I'm sorry, Harry."

For an endless second he searched her melancholy face, thinking such a pronouncement ought to have seemed more joyful on her lips. Instead it was tinged with regret, and perhaps disappointment. He shook his head. "I don't believe you," he declared, and swept away and down the dismal alley. "But do what you will. I'll be here when you decide."

Hermione didn't bother to chase him, nor did she follow his retreating form with her eyes. The muffled laughter from the neighboring offices assaulted her; she was insulted that they were amused by her drama. She felt like shouting at them, 'Why is it funny!' But she turned to reenter her office, instead, eyes focused on the ground._ I'm not in love with a memory_, she assured herself, before ascending the couple stairs.

It was then that she noticed Draco guarding the entrance. He was positioned under the doorway, with the shadows cloaking his face. It was quite possible that he had overheard everything.

Hermione was afraid.


	7. All in the Past Part I

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Author's Notes: Well, I decided that I'd split the flashback chapter into two chapters because when I got to the end of this one, it seemed more like an end and less like a middle. I apologize for the short chapter. Also, I'd like you to note that these flashbacks take place before all the other ones. I hope that's not too confusing. I didn't mean to do that when I started:)

Thanks to Barbarella for pointing out that this chapter had somehow become chapter 9. I was playing around with the chapters, editing out things I didn't like and adding new things, and I messed up the order of the chapters.

* * *

Chapter VII: All in the Past 

by Jenni

_The pelting rain was making things difficult. Harry observed proceedings from the hilltop, standing numbly in the downpour while clutching his great coat around him in a vain attempt to keep out the chill. His teeth were chattering, and his icy hands could barely feel the cloth they were so cold, and he was trying hard not to shiver. He didn't deserve to shiver. As far as Harry was concerned, he had it easy. _

_The valley below was still filled with the frenzied traffic of medics and stretcher-bearers going to a from the battlefield, even though the battle had ended five hours before. Five hours before, and yet the outcome was still impossible to estimate. But as he watched the scurry of the men and women below, struggling in the mire of dirt and rain and blood, Harry saw it couldn't have been an advantageous one. The stench of blood and the groans of the dying filled his senses, even from his far-off vantage point.  
_

_One man was tossed from his stretcher during the commotion, and landed face down in the mud_._ He thrashed a bit as the doctors rushed to his aid, and then slipped themselves. _

_Harry didn't want to look anymore, but he did not turn away. He stayed because he knew that somewhere in that mess was Hermione. If she had been lucky, that is. Ron and Ginny were scouring the field, hoping to catche a glimpse of her. Hoping as well that what they saw wouldn't be a corpse. _

_'I shouldn't have left her side,' thought Harry, and he pulled his coat even more tightly, until the seams threatened to rip, and his neck became red as the collar cut into it. His hands were clenched around the wool lapels, so forcefully that his wand was almost at its snapping point. Everything in his mind and body was numb.  
_

_Somehow, in fifteen minutes he had to report to headquarters, to tell his commanding officers what had become of his unit. Out of one hundred, perhaps fifty remained. Fifty, not including Hermione._

_'How did I lose her?' he asked himself again, and replayed events as if he would had he lost a bag on a train. But Hermione was not a bag, and when he tried to retrace the hours all he could see was the blur of battle. She was there one moment, and then she wasn't.  
_

_To make it worse Harry felt that he had never loved her more_ _until this moment when she was gone. He hadn't even known that he did love her until now, but looking back on it he couldn't see how he could have missed the signs. Hermione was his conscience. When he was irrational, she was his voice of reason. When he was angry, she was there to soothe him. When he cracked a joke that no one else understood, she was his faithful audience. He had taken it all for granted, but Harry swore if she survived things would change. For one, he wouldn' t have her constantly risking her life just to make him happy to have someone at his back in a fight. Hermione deserved better than that.  
_

_He wanted to go back and look. He knew if he could go back he would find her because he had always found her. Perhaps he would have gone too, if the colonel hadn't come up behind him and clapped him on the back. _

_"You fought well, Potter," he said. "I've got a dozen witnesses. They may put you in for a medal."_

_Harry didn't answer._

_The colonel studied him sympathetically. "I know none of that matters to you, but try to think of yourself as an example. It's good for morale."_

_He nodded. _

_The colonel conjured up a writing tablet. "Now, what's the status of your unit?"_

_

* * *

The mud was choking her. It was thick and tasted coppery like blood. Then Hermione realized there was blood mixed in with the dirt that she was tasting. She tried to spit out the filth, but to no avail. In fact, the little bit of movement she could muster only made her sink deeper. A centaur had fallen on top of her paralyzed body, and with each hour she sank a little further into the blood-soaked ground. Soon, she knew, her mouth would be filled with mud, just as her nose was. If someone didn't find her soon, she would drown. _

_Around her, Hermione was keenly aware that the silence was growing. Before, there had been distinct groans and cries for help. Morbid and disturbing as they were, Hermione had found them comforting. As long as there were cries, the medics would keep coming. But now a terrible silence had replaced them, and she was alone among the dead. At times she feared that perhaps the ambulances would become disheartened and leave their grim task to be completed in the morning. It was simply a matter of whose hope held out longest. For Hermione was also concerned for the wound she had sustained in her leg. Was is still bleeding? She couldn't feel. Ironic that she had been felled by something as simple as a paralysis curse, something she herself had performed as a child. And even as she had fallen, it had been inconceivable to her that she would be drowning in the dirt countless hours later. _

_Ironic as it was, Hermione supposed that the centaur whose weight was now pinning her to her doom, was the only the thing which kept her alive. Her wounds had been extensive, but the pressure caused from being crushed into the dirt most assuredly would keep her from bleeding to death. Of course, the wounds wound be slathered in muck, but that could be fixed by a simple anti-infection spell. Hermione had learned those at Hogwarts. She could do them with her hands tied behind her back. So could Harry...if only Harry would come. The thought of Harry foiled the distraction which her analytic assessments had provided. Her eyes threatened to spill over with tears, but Hermione refused to let them fall. Should she weep, she might risk dehydrating herself further. And she must not let that happen. Harry and Ron would be beside themselves if they didn't find her alive. Harry most of all, she decided. Yet time driveled on, no one came, and Hermione felt herself growing tired. Her eyes closed against her will, hastening the approaching darkness. Yet she couldn't even yawn or shake her head to help herself. A question entered her mind of whether it was worse to die in such pain that she begged for the end, or feeling nothing, and going so quietly and painlessly that the end would slip in before she could stop it? 'Harry...' _

_Draco had not participated in the battle, but instead had been confined to the command tent, listening to their orders and haphazard strategies with an increasing sense of gloom. As a spy, he could not risk exposure of his cover (or so he was repeatedly told). He was more valuable at a safe distance from the fighting, and he understood this. But the angry child in him still desired that sort of glory that could bring attention and acceptance. At this point, Draco didn't know which he desired more. Before the fighting had even ended, he had extricated himself from the other officers, and had walked the behind-the-lines area in his spotless uniform, scowling at the action. He had climbed the very same hill on which Major Potter would stand in the evening and watched the proceedings in the valley. What he had seen was a much more orderly line of ambulances, for the rain had not yet reached the point of downpour, and the mud was not yet a perilous mire of men and blood. Far upon the horizon he had seen the ragged line of the battle. _

_'I've been through just as much,' he had told himself. 'I've seen my fair share of danger, and risked my life as much as they, but everything I have done is squandered by these bumbling assholes. Everything they do somehow translates to legend.' He might have stood on that overlook for an eternity, but despite the petulant nature of his thoughts, Draco was a man grown. Rather than stand uselessly like a pillar of salt, Draco preferred to make himself useful. And by now his sight had wandered from the_ _far off battlefield and back to the line of medics heading toward the hospital. _

_Ron was too busy to be discouraged by the carnage in the hospital tents. His eyes skirted left and right, moving too quickly to fix on any one visage. Behind him was Ginny, less harried in her pace, and more thorough in her search. Every once in a while she would stray from his side, to take a closer look at a hospital bed, but to no avail. Hermione was nowhere to be seen. _

_They called vainly, but their voices were drowned out by the wails of the sick and the shouting of the doctors. Someone should have put a silencing spell on the tents...and perhaps one to improve the lighting as well. _

_What the tents had been charmed to do was to go on forever. Rows and rows of beds lay ahead of them, and yet deep in his heart Ron sensed that Hermione didn't occupy a single one. Nevertheless, he was prepared to trudge on when Ginny cried out from behind. _

_"Ron!" _

_He swung around. "Is it her?"_

_Ginny looked up mournfully, her lively eyes dulled and her cheeks drained of color. "No. ...It's Fred."_

_The night sky was devoid of light, but Hermione couldn't tell. Nor could she have discerned one from the other at the moment when the centaur was lifted from her broken form. _

_She didn't hear her rescuer cry for help, nor recite the counter curse. But when her limbs were free again, a subtle smile crept over her lips. _

_"We can't take her. There aren't any stretchers available." barked one man. _

_"Then I'll carry her. She needs help now." _

_The meaning of those words didn't register in her mind, but she could feel strong arms hoisting her up. She let out an involuntary cry of pain_ _as the wound in her leg protested. _

_"You can't do that, it'll open up again."_

_"Well, I'll float her to the hospital."_

_"It's against policy."_

_"Bollocks! I'm a qualified wizard, not a squib like you. I'm not going to drop her."_

_Suddenly, Hermione was riding on a cushion of air. Her eyes fluttered open for the briefest of seconds, but she couldn't make out the shadow looming over her. Was it Harry? She tried to reach out to it, but her arm felt too heavy. It was about to flop down, when the man caught it, and set it gently over her chest. _

_His hands were rough, and the cuff of his sleeve brushed her face as he arranged her arm. His scent was unfamiliar, yet comforting and it lingered in her mind as she drifted back into unconsciousness. _

_Draco knew he was unwanted in the infirmary, and that was all the more reason to stay beside the woman he had found. The doctors had not yet found the time to take notice of her, for there was a long line. Furthermore, since she had no stretcher he would have been forced to abandon her on the cold ground before he could go elsewhere. He thought of conjuring a bed for her, but that would only cause chaos in the already unmaneuverable vicinity. _

_He stared at her filthy face, half caked in mud, and suddenly felt irritated without knowing why. And so he set her on the ground anyway, and raised his wand for another spell. "Purgo lutum!" he commanded. _

_All filth suddenly disappeared from her face. Draco was stunned for a moment by her identity, but mostly he was amused. "Mobilicorpus," he said, and her clean body rose off the ground once more. He couldn't suppress a chuckle, "Well hello, Mudblood."_

_When he looked up he noticed another medic, waiting with a similar patient and staring at him in disapproval. His snarky grin promptly faded. _

_"Draco Malfoy, is it?" asked the other man, but it was more of a statement._

_The desire was strong in him to say yes because Draco was proud of his own name. It was a good name, or so it had been in the past. It had once commanded respect, but now it was more associated with the enemy and with evil. So the other part of Draco prevailed: the part of him that wished to avoid trouble more because he was tired of defending himself. Draco stared back at the other man and shook his head. "I don't know who you're talking about," he half-snarled._

_The man before him seemed ready to apologize, but before he could speak further, a nurse appeared through the tent flap. Draco felt relieved that he had escaped from hearing that git apologize for having mistaken him for someone so despicable as a 'Malfoy.'   
_

_What Hermione was aware of first was a pair of arms, possibly two, settling her down on something cold. A bed? And one pair had that same smell of those arms that had carried her from the field. But when her confused vision settled, it settled on the image of a silver-blond head, bowed over her. She tensed immediately when she saw who it was._

_Malfoy... Had she been captured? _

_His head lifted a little, and gray eyes peeked through his messy hair. He was watching her. Her breath caught in her throat, but it was not from fear._

_Unfortunately, her weak body couldn't take the strain. She coughed a little, and he lifted her so she was sitting more upright. _

_"Thank..." she murmured, and closed her eyes again. _

_"Are you cold?" he asked. Hermione didn't understand what he was saying. She understood the words, but her mind was so exhausted that she couldn't put them in a context that meant anything. Hermione knew that he was hovering over her, waiting for something. __Hermione wasn't sure why he cared so much, but it seemed important to him that she be comfortable. For his sake, she tried to speak.  
_

_"I'm going to get you a blanket if I can find one," he said before she had the chance, turning to go._

_Hermione couldn't even nod, but began to slip back into the dreamworld. But she was no longer worried. 'I remember now,'_ _she told herself, 'Malfoy is good.'_

_She didn't realize that she had said it out loud. And she didn't see that one meter away Draco had paused in his steps when he had heard it. _

_He savored her words for a moment, committing them to memory. And when he rushed away, it was not in anger, but with an eagerness to complete his self-appointed task. _


	8. And the Plot Thickens

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Chapter VIII: And the Plot Thickens…

by Jenni

* * *

Draco loved how the soft tendrils of honey-brown hair rested over the delicate curve of her neck as she slept. Her lovely face was buried in the pillow, and he followed the gentle rise of her back with every breath. 

How easy it would be to push her down into the indentation and watch her suffocate. He would never have to worry about her running off with Potter again.

It was perhaps the eighteenth time he had contemplated such an action, but he had rejected it each time in horror. He would never hurt Hermione on purpose. He felt the scar along his cheek itch with every such thought, for it was past midnight, and he had not drunk the potion in several hours. Not that the potion made a difference. He could always sense that scar, whether the feeling was physical or subconscious.

Sometimes he could even hear the screams that had accompanied its creation, and he would shudder. He hadn't wanted to kill her then, but he had done it. Wouldn't it be ironic if he did it again? Yes, even after everything he had gone through to find her. But then, he had to remember that she wasn't really his.

Sometimes he hated her for this.

Draco had never considered that things might be so different in this world that Hermione wouldn't accept him. Just as not loving Hermione seemed anathema to him, a Hermione not loving him had been equally incomprehensible. But here she was.

What had she been talking about with Potter? He hadn't heard a bloody thing they had said, but whatever conversation had been exchanged, it had seemed fairly intimate to him. The sight of his beautiful girl entwined in Potter's grasping arms had nearly driven him to murder. Yet it hadn't been Potter whom he wanted to kill. Only Hermione could make him lose his focus like this. This simple, muggle born girl defied all the tenants he'd been brought up with and had made him question his very existence until all he could think about was her. You Know Who had seen his weakness immediately because Draco had _never _been able to disguise his love for her. And his fury over losing her certainly did not diminish his love now, even as he contemplated the peace of mind he could achieve by removing her from his life forever. It wouldn't last after the guilt set in, but maybe for one moment he could find respite. And maybe that would be enough. After all, if she wasn't _his_ Hermione, what did it really matter if she died? If she loved Potter...if Draco Malfoy didn't mean anything to her in this life, then surely he could feel the same casual indifference to her.

_No. Don't even think it. _

Hermione snorted in her sleep, unaware of the potential peril. She squirmed in her sleep and pulled the sheets closer to her bare flesh.

Draco smiled. Yes, he hated her. He also loved her. He desperately wanted to know what she had been discussing so heatedly with the fabulous Mr. Potter. Undoubtedly they had been arguing over him.

Why did it matter what Potter thought? Why should there be anything to argue about?

He knew the answer was that Hermione had seen through him. She must have somehow sensed his crime.

_I told her I'd never hurt her_, he thought. But at that moment Draco couldn't bear the image of her disgust. He never wanted to see her beautiful eyes look upon him with the hatred that would be inevitable if she were to find out the full truth about how he'd destroyed her life. She was a smart girl, possibly the most intelligent he had ever met. He had loved her mind, but now it was his greatest enemy for she would most certainly figure out the truth. And he couldn't live with that.

His trembling hand grasped his pillow, and he raised it to hover over her unsuspecting form. He sat up fully, in order to give himself better leverage. Disturbed by the slight jiggle, Hermione groaned and moved over onto her back. Draco froze. His shadow, cast against the pallid moon-light, had fallen over her face. The hands that held the pillow were shaking.

Oh God, he couldn't do it.

Draco threw the pillow back into its place, and flopped onto the bed. The sudden movement woke her.

"Draco?" she whimpered.

He seized her up and pressed her full against his body, burying his weeping eyes in her hair. He shook against her, terrified by his own thoughts. She struggled a little under his tight embrace, but he wouldn't slacken his arms. At last, she surrendered to him and to sleep, letting him hold her as a sort of restraint against the violent tremors of his body.

* * *

It was one of those rare nights when Ronald Weasley arrived at his home alone. Not that he couldn't have picked up some girl in a bar...it was just that frankly the dating chase was becoming awfully dull. Not to mention his heart just wasn't into it today. 

But that didn't mean Ron Weasley was going to find "The One" nice girl he'd been destined for, fall in love and settle down. No way. Love was overrated, and it ruined peoples' lives. He'd seen what it had done to his friends, and he didn't care for it happening to him. Eventually, maybe...if he found someone he was completely certain wouldn't rake him over the coals, and who in addition wasn't dull as dirt, and who was incredibly pretty (but not so pretty as to produce an obscene amount of competition from other interested blokes) and who could cook as well as his Mum and who liked Hippogriffs and Quidditch and was just the right age, and had a nice body and brown hair (because Ron liked brunettes) then yes, Ron might consider settling down. Maybe. But not before that.

Then again, it might be nice to have someone. Ron took another look around his unkempt flat, letting his sight dwindle on the accumulating number of socks strewn around his sofa, and thought not for the first time that day that he ought to clean up. A sigh escaped him as he thought about how Ginny might be right. He should get a wife._ "A nice one,"_ she had told him once._ "Someone who can supplement your income enough so you can afford a maid." _

He smiled at the memory, but discarded the advice. He was so good at womanizing that it would be too much of a waste to give it up. Although,sometimes Ron wondered if womanizing was the only skill his friends attributed to him. Friends are stupid sometimes.

Ron scowled, thinking about Harry. He couldn't see why he was being so stubborn about the Malfoy business. Harry was generally the responsible friend, the sensible and understanding friend. Or at least he had been ever since the war began. Of course, he had always been amazingly bull-headed when it came to what he decided would be best for his friends, but lately it seemed to be getting worse and worse. Ron wasn't blind; he saw exactly what Harry was trying to do.

He supposed the best course of action would be to yell and scream, give Harry the silent treatment, and wait for him to come around. Maybe he would, maybe he wouldn't.

As he sunk further into the recliner, he wondering if there was a less juvenile solution to this dispute. _Probably_, he mused. _But I don't feel like thinking of one_.

He ran a hand through his rakish hair, then leaned his cheek on it. Before he knew it, and despite his uncomfortable position, he was beginning to drift towards sleep.

Then there was a sharp rap at the window pane. Ron's eyes snapped open, and he wiped furiously at the bit of drool that had escaped his mouth. The customary post-somnum confusion dissipated at the second rapping, and Ron slunk to the window.

Sluggishly, he pulled back the curtains, to reveal Hermione's fleecy gray owl, Hermes, hopping around on the outside ledge. _Oh thank God_, thought Ron. He had feared it would be another note from some heart-broken ex-girlfriend.

He opened the window with more eagerness than he had displayed walking to it, and held out his hand for Hermes to perch upon, as he removed the letter from the owl's leg.

"Let's get you a treat." he told the bird, who hooted with eager agreement. Ron took him to the kitchen, where he deposited him on the back of a chair, and sat in the one next to it. He reached for the tin container of owl treats sitting by the table, and fumbled to open it.

Yet as he read the words on the page, poor Hermes was forgotten.

_Ron, _

_I had a talk with Harry, and I doubt he'll come around to see our point of view. Therefore, in the interests of the agency, I think it would be best to make this an independent project. If you still wish to comply with the wishes of Narcissa Malfoy regarding the Malfoy case, I would still be amenable to its pursuit. You want to prove that he isn't Draco, and I want to prove that he is. Will you meet me at the office tomorrow? Before Harry gets there, of course. __Seven o'clock_

_Write me back._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

He squinted at the formal words on the parchment, then at the owl who had delivered them. He scratched his head, and turned to Hermes again, still waiting impatiently for his treat.

Ron sputtered. "Has your mistress gone bloody daft?" He held out an owl treat, and Hermes took it, but not before pecking him roughly on the finger for his insult to Hermione.

"Ow!" exclaimed Ron, holding the cut. He looked back at the paper, and then bolted for his office. He needed some parchment.

* * *

Draco knew as he was exiting the train that somehow he had been there before, and it wasn't the station itself which told him this. It was the people, the little details of the day that gave him an eerie sense of déja vu. Somehow he knew the little boy eating his Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans was going to spit one on the concrete platform. And he saw in his mind an old man tipping his hat nearly two seconds before he actually did it. There was a chain of events carrying him like a river to a waterfall, which he could see from a distance, but was powerless to avoid. 

And in two seconds he would see Hermione. She would turn with anxious eyes searching the mass of travelers and luggage, and he would smile because she had pulled her hair back just like he liked it so that her lily-white neck was exposed. He would wave to catch her eye, and go to her. She was so happy. Her arms raised to him. And then...

_No..._ _Stop! No... _his mind cried out.

But he was never able to stop.

He took her in his arms, and felt her hand upon his left cheek.

_It's already too late..._

Before he could lean down to kiss her, her smile had disappeared, replaced with one of horrific agony.

_"D...Draco?_" she gasped her last coherent word before the pain erupted from within, and her utterances turned to tormented screams. The hand that had so lovingly touched his cheek, had not dropped, but bit into his flesh as she latched onto him as if he were life itself. The nail dug through his cheek, and scraped back, drawing blood. Her screams were cut off without warning, as the curse continued its torture, burning through her lungs.

Her eyes latched onto his, still bright with love, but now it was hidden behind pain and confusion. Her hand still clenched, but there was no longer flesh to hold. It slumped to his neck, smearing his blood on his pristine collar, and she fell.

Stricken with disbelief, Draco caught her. But when he moved his hands to support her head, he found her eyes dimmed.

Hermione was dead.

Draco bolted awake, but it took him only a moment to register his surroundings. He had dreamt this dream so many times that he was no longer disoriented by it. However, it didn't make it any less terrible.

As he shook off the aftershocks of his recurring nightmare, Draco remembered that for the first time in years he could tell himself it was exactly that: a nightmare, and nothing else. His arms went out, searching for Hermione's warm body, but all he found was a cold pillow. His eyes darted to the place she should have occupied. Empty.

A chill set over him, and blind panic followed behind. Had it all been a dream? He bolted from the bed, not bothering to clothe himself, and called for her. "Hermione!"

No answer came.

"Hermione!" he shouted again, peeking through the bedroom door, and into the hallway. Still nothing.

His sight found itself focused on a framed picture of Hermione with Potter and Weasley. They were smiling like mad, giggling a little, and had their arms thrown around each others' shoulders. It was recent. He could tell by the similarities in their haircuts that it couldn't have been more than a year ago.

He felt calmer knowing she hadn't been a dream; she was just absent. Still, the picture unnerved him. The three friends moving in the photograph were inseparable...they didn't even acknowledge his presence.

Not wishing to study it further, he wandered into the kitchen, and his face erupted into a smile when he saw a note sitting by a plate of scones fresh from the bakery. When had she found time to buy them?

He picked up the paper, scribbled out in her characteristically neat handwriting, which actually wasn't so neat as it usually was. In fact, it seemed to have been written in incredible haste:

_Draco,_

_Enjoy your breakfast. I bought it especially for you. I have to be at the office in exactly...now, but I'll see you later tonight. _

_Hermione_

He read it over, frowning with distaste at the lack of a proper farewell. Not even a "Yours Sincerely" for the signature. She might have at least put, "Later." But she hadn't bothered. The note could have been written for the cat sitter or the chimney sweep. It wasn't a proper girlfriend's note.

Finally, he decided to throw it away. After all, it wasn't the sort of note you save, and put in your breast pocket, and read over and over with kisses and tears. He crumpled it up, walked over to the waste bin and held it over, ready to drop it in without a second thought. But his trained eyes caught a glimpse of something odd.

He peered down into the can. Burnt paper?

Curiosity got the better of him. Knowing Hermione and her perfectionism, she had probably written ten such notes, only to destroy them. Maybe she hadn't wanted to seem too vulnerable. Maybe she had written a few words too messily. At any rate, he couldn't help but want to know.

A quick trip back to the bedroom to retrieve his wand, and Draco was standing over the trash again.

"_Litteras Reparo!_" he ordered, and the ashes reordered themselves into clean and healthy paper. Maybe it was nothing, if Hermione hadn't bothered to charm the ashes so they could not be reconstructed. Draco remembered then that Hermione didn't know how to do that. That was a Death Eater spell.

He looked at it to see what she had written. However, the note was not in Hermione's writing, and was in fact altogether unfamiliar to Draco.

Nevertheless, he read:

_Hermione,_

_You can't imagine my surprise at your message. 'Prove that he is Draco?' Does that mean you have some sort of suspicion that he isn't? At any rate, I won't question your motives, but do allow me to say how very odd they are. I'll meet you in the morning, but not at the office. Harry's hours are unpredictable, you know. Meet me in Diagon Alley. In front of the old bookstore. I've got a lead. Or at least I did a week ago. _

_See you at seven,_

_Ron_

Draco stared at the words with increasing ire, knowing that the note and plate of scones had been a trick to lure him into a sense of false security. She still suspected him, then. So much now that she didn't even vocalize her suspicions. He thought back to the incident during the night. He hadn't been under the potion, and his arms had been wrapped around her. Who was he to say that she hadn't woken up long enough to see the mark?

Well, what were they going to do! Plot to kill him? To arrest him?

How little faith this Hermione had in him. _His_ had never cared, but had always loved him faithfully and as unconditionally as she had promised.

"_Incendio!_" he roared, and Weasley's letter burst once again into flames. He hurled it into the trash. Should he go after them? No, that would only confirm Hermione's fears. Besides, he didn't know where they had gone after their rendezvous. He could do nothing but wait.


	9. On the Trail

Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.

Author's Notes: I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long.  I think I actually "finished" it in July, but there were various delays.  However, I'd like to thank those of you, who have faithfully followed it thus far despite the slow and infrequent updates.  I do appreciate your feedback.  

Chapter IX: On the trail

by Jenni

*****

Harry was not surprised by the lack of co-workers at the office.  After their various fallings out with him, he supposed they'd be keeping their distance for a few days.  Although, their lack of commitment to their work was a tad trying.  Ron could rail all he wanted about not wanting to screw the business, but if that was the case then he ought to show up at the office.

He had also hoped that Hermione would be here so he could apologize, but he supposed she was at her flat, servicing Malfoy or whoever he was.  After thinking on it long and hard during the night, Harry realized that it made no sense to let Hermione stay with a man he presumed to be an imposter.  What if the phony Malfoy harmed her?  

_Shut up_, he told himself.  _You made your decision.  You're just looking for an excuse to go back on it._

So he forced himself to think of the matter at hand, which was the letter from Arthur Weasley regarding a missing museum artifact.  The object was the 'Blossom Gem,' which had supposedly been one of Nicholas Flammel's first experiments.  It didn't do anything particularly special other than turn sedimentary rocks into rose quartz, but it was of historical value.  And it had enough magical qualities that it should never be handled by muggles.  

Wishing Hermione was here, Harry contemplated the best way to start his research.  If only Arthur had sent him the police reports, his task might have been much simpler.  Who would want to take a useless rock like the 'Blossom Gem?'

*****

Hermione felt more despicable than Judas as she walked into the pub where she had told Ron to meet her.  But it wasn't as if Draco knew, or Harry either.  Still, this was cold comfort as she found Ron, looking almost as guilty from his seat in the back.  Hermione caught his attention, and they both exchanged a smile before she began to navigate through the mire of tables and benches to where he sat.  

"Hey," she greeted him as she approached.  

"Hi," he answered.  "How are you today?"

And they exchanged the usual pleasantries, happy to delay business to the last.  But when the conversation turned to Quidditch, Hermione decided it was time for them to come to the point.  

"So what's this lead?" Hermione asked with a sigh.

Ron halted in the middle of his diatribe on the ethics of Quidditch recruiting, and brought his hands together.  He swallowed before starting.  "On my date with Laura...the same night that Malfoy came back, I took her to a pub."

Hermione snorted.  "You took her to a pub?"

"It was an accident!" he cried in defense.  "Anyway, the interesting thing was that the owner said that there had been an investigation for illegal use of Auror magic on the grounds outside.  That was two months ago, when Malfoy first disappeared."  Then he paused.

"Yes?" she urged him on.

Ron pulled a few sloppily folded sheets of paper.  "Ginny swiped these for me from her office.  They're wand and spell readings from the scene.  It appears that all the spells were cast by the same wand...but there are two types of magic being performed."

"What two types?" she asked, grabbing the papers and staring at them.

"I don't know," shrugged Ron, uncomfortably.  "Ginny doesn't have a high-enough rank to gain access to the full reports, which are in a magically-secured cabinet. I'll come to that later.  I suppose she would have found a way to get them for me if I'd begged, but that would compromise her job and, well, I just...there's another way."

Exasperated, Hermione set the papers down on the table.  "There had better be.  I told Draco I'd be back tonight and if I'm not..."

"What?" teased Ron, "He'll put you in the dog house?"

Hermione's lips thinned, and she said nothing.  Truth be told she didn't know what he'd do.  Although there had been a time when she trusted Draco implicitly, it no longer seemed so irrational to her that she feared him.  It was not so much how he behaved as how she felt when she was near him.  The previous night she had felt frightened by something inexplicable, and had awoken to the suffocating feeling of his arms pulling her too tightly against his body.  Perhaps she might have tried a bit harder to escape, but she had felt almost paralyzed.  As if she had just escaped from some great danger.

Ron, meanwhile, was still attempting to elicit a laugh from her.  "Ok ok, I promise you I have a lead and you won't get in trouble with Draco.  Just go home and tell him that you'll be with me tonight and...no wait, that doesn't sound like a good idea either..."

Hermione smiled despite herself.  "You have such a high opinion of yourself, Ron Weasley.  Someday some woman is going to knock you back a notch or two."

He looked at her earnestly for a second.  "I sincerely hope so, Hermione.  I sincerely hope so."  But he couldn't hold it, and his face cracked into a broad grin.   

*****

Harry had acquired several Muggle newspapers, most of which he had ripped apart in his search for some news of the Blossom Gem.  Mr. Weasley had insisted in his letter that it was in Muggle territory somewhere, sold on the black-market.  To the right Muggle, even a quill belonging to a Witch might be considered priceless.  The Blossom Gem was useless in the magic community–nothing more than a glorified paperweight.  But to a Muggle, it would be worth millions.  Perhaps some greedy witch or warlock had pinched it.  

The argument seemed logical enough, but Harry hadn't the slightest idea where he could begin his search.  A jewelry magazine perhaps?  He'd gotten ten of those, but hadn't looked at them yet.

He was sitting in a coffee shop in Muggle Bath, pouring over his collection of papers and magazines with such intensity that he was beginning to attract attention.  He picked up the jewelry magazine that was on top of the pile, and flipped the pages anxiously.  

A girl giggled at him from next to the table and heard her whisper to her friend, "No, look, he's getting married."

Confused, Harry took a glance at the cover of his reading material, to discover a gigantic diamond as the picture.  He blushed red and got up, taking his magazines with him.  However, on the way out, he was stopped.  

"Sir," cried an annoyed waitress, "You haven't paid."

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and began to fumble in his pockets for the correct change.  But to his dismay, he realized he had spent all his pound coins.  After pulling out several galleons, and then hastily pushing them back into his pockets, he reached for his wallet in the back pocket.  But while doing so, the magazines tumbled from his arms and into a disorganized heap on the floor.  The apologetic waitress quickly stooped to pick them up, but after noticing both the coins and the massive quantity of jewelry magazines, she simply couldn't help herself.  When she stood again, she was smiling.  "My uncle owns a jewelry shop on Pulteney.  It's a kind of antique shop, but if you show him your gold he'll give you anything you want for your girl."

Harry reddened.  "Er...I don't have a..."

But the waitress interrupted him, misunderstanding his evasion.  "It's ok," she said, "I know what you are.  I saw your money."

He was so flustered that when he handed her the 5 pound note, he allowed her to keep the change.

*****

"You didn't tell me we were going to a Muggle DANCE club!" exclaimed an incredulous Hermione as Ron pulled her into the main floor.  They had barely gotten in because Hermione, having been uninformed regarding the specifics, was wearing sleek business robes, which may have been fashionable in Hogsmeade, but in Muggle London, it looked as if she'd just stepped out of Cambridge.  Ron had begged the bouncer.  When that didn't work, Hermione used magic.  Oh well, they'd receive a small fine, but it'd be worth it.  Or so Ron had assured her.  

And here they were in a nightclub with sweaty, bouncy..."scarlet" women.  

Ron merely flashed her a grin.  "Do I look all right?"

"Fabulous," she answered.

The plan was simple.  Ron needed access to the police files at Ginny's office, but only the Chief Auror had the cabinet key.  And this cabinet was charmed against unlocking spells.  It was charmed against skeleton keys.  There was no weakness in the cabinet, a precaution taken by the Ministry due to the level of corruption that had existed before the war when anyone could gain access to too much information.  No weakness in the cabinet...but the Chief Auror on the other hand...  

He would get into her apartment, find the key and copy it.  Then he'd take the original and leave.  By the time she figured it out, he would have gotten Ginny to swap the two.  Somehow...  Well, that was Ginny's problem.  

Ron straightened his hair a bit.  "Ok, she likes to frequent the dance floor, but the problem is that there are usually a million men surrounding her.  So you..."

"Ron, I can't divert anyone in this outfit.  I'll just stand by the bar."

"Right," he replied, reformulating.  "Well, you won't see me until tomorrow, I suppose."

Hermione's eyes narrowed at his confident pronouncement, and she yanked him back by the sleeve of his shirt as he turned away from her.  "You know you're a prat?"

Ron blushed a little, feeling strangely offended.  Hermione clapped something into his hand.  He looked down and blushed even redder.  He had almost forgotten the key replicator.  Hermione's expression was chastising.  "Don't forget about business."

"Yes, mum," he answered.  

"Go get her."

With a smirk, Ron wheedled his way through the gyrating mob, looking left and right for Donna.  She was always here on Friday nights.  He remembered Ginny complaining that the only thing her boss ever talked about on Mondays were her weekend conquests.

_"It's just not something one should mention in the office!"_

Ron shook his head.  "I'm in a club with hundreds of scantily clad women, and I'm thinking about my sister?"

He continued to search the floor, but it was dark and the only light came from the strobe.  Someone brushed his rear, and not in passing.  The touch had lingered.  Despite his experience, Ron felt embarrassed and refused to turn around.  Until...  "Hey there stranger."  

Donna Peabody.  Chief Auror of the 9th precinct.  He turned. 

"Weasley!?" she exclaimed.  "No no no, I come here to escape business.  You've got to leave."

He cocked his head to the side.  "Who said anything about business?"  But when she didn't hear him over the noise, he was forced to repeat himself.  "WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BUSINESS?" he screamed, knowing his line had been completely ruined by the funny face he'd had to make while shouting it.  

Peabody's eyes rolled.  "No one yet, but I know it's coming.  Why else would you be in Muggle London on a Friday?"

He pointed in Hermione's direction, where she was just discernable through the crowd, staking awkwardly by the bar.  "Taking my girl out for a spin."

"What?"

"TAKING MY GIRL OUT FOR A SPIN!"

"Please!  Everyone knows she's Potter's girl."

Ron's eyebrows raised, then pulled his lips into a mock frown.  "Ah yes.  I've been denied love by my best friend.  Do you feel at all empathetic now?"

"No," she replied flatly.  "What do you want Weasley?"

"Honestly?"

"What?"

"HONESTLY!!!!?"  What was she hard of hearing?!  The music wasn't _that_ loud.

Donna's eyes narrowed at him.  "If you value your life."

Ron spoke, figuring she wouldn't hear whatever he said, "I could use a good shag."

*****

_"I could use a good shag?!_" cried Hermione.  "What the Hell were you thinking?!"  

They were standing in front of the toilets where it was quieter.  

"Hey, you'd be surprised how many times that works," Ron defended himself weakly.  

"God, we'd have been better off asking Ginny," she sighed.

"She doesn't have a key.  Her rank isn't high enough.  I told you this!"

"Well now what are we going to do?!" cried an utterly frustrated Hermione.  "We need a key!"  

Suddenly they heard a groan and found Donna Peabody staring at the both of them.  It was obvious that she had been standing there a great while, attempting to decide what to do.  Her eyes had been roaming indecisively over Ron's form, half disgusted, but half intrigued.  However, she covered this up well.

"Not you again," she said with distaste and hastened to leave.   

But Hermione's quick mind started up in overdrive.  "Peabody!" she called after her.  

"Yeah?" answered the Auror, turning around again.  

"Next time, keep your hands off my man."

Ron gaped at her, even more when he felt Hermione clutching possessively at his arm.  She looked up at him and winked quickly.  

"Granger," began Donna, mortally offended, "I'll have you know he was all over _me_.  And I don't blame him."  She took a pointed glance at Hermione's robes.

"Oh yeah?  Well who's he with now?"  Hermione pressed herself full against Ron's body, even letting her hands roam over him as she sought to emphasize her claim as blatantly as possible.  

Donna glared, "You, but only because I rejected him."

Hermione scoffed.  "What, do you have eyes?"

"Yeah and they think you're an ice bitch!"  retorted Donna, who not only had eyes, but had eyes which were now strongly resembling balls of fire.  She was drunk.  She was suggestible.  She was spitting mad.  

"Rooon!" whined Hermione, aggravating the Chief Auror even more.  "How can you let her talk to me that way?"

Ron blushed furiously, still not completely sure where Hermione was going with this.  They hadn't flirted like this since school, and well...had she gone completely nutters?!

"Forget it," Donna sneered.  "I'm going."

Hermione smiled, let a moment or two pass and then tapped Ron on the back.  "Ok, _now_ go apologize for my behavior."

Catching on at last, Ron did as he was bidden, and found Donna stewing by the coat rack.  "Hey, I truly am sorry about her.  She gets that way when she's pissed.  You know, can't handle Muggle beer...although she is a Muggle, but..."

"I see what you meant about a good shag."

"Come again?" Ron paused as Donna laughed.  

"Exactly."  

*****

As in all antique shops, the staleness of the air was noticeable as soon as one walked through the door.  Harry stepped through the low doorway and unconsciously rubbed at his nose before descending the three uneven steps to the main level of the narrow store.  The scene was innocent enough: most of the merchandise consisted of tables and lamps.  A case of china was visible in the back of the store.  Near the window sat a small pianoforte, collecting dust.  Harry felt as if he should offer some advice to the proprietor, and suggest that he move the instrument away from the window where the sun might age it into worthlessness.  But the proprietor was no where in sight.  A little bell rested on the counter in the middle of the room, and he stepped forward to ring it.  

The sound seemed too loud for the room.  But within ten seconds, a jolly old man with gray hair and a well-clipped moustache appeared through a set of faded green curtains behind the counter.  He smiled at Harry as if he had never seen a customer before.  "Yes, can I help you?" he inquired.  

Harry licked his lips and paused before he pulled a few galleons out from his pocket and set them on the counter.  

The expression on the little salesman's round face grew brighter.  

"Well!" said he, "I don't get many of your kind here, but I'm always pleased to have you."

"Is that so?" remarked Harry.

"Yes, you always bring such nice things."

Harry started inwardly, a million questions rushing into his mind.  Which one would be best to ask?  

"Has anyone brought you any gemstones?"

The man's face fell for a moment, but he recovered.  "Well, no, not here, I'm afraid.  I've got some nice necklaces if it's a lady you're trying to impress."

Harry made no response for a moment, trying to discern whether or not the man was lying.  "It is a lady, but I'm afraid she'll only like a rock."

"_The_ rock?" inquired the man, conspiratorially.  

Harry smiled, knowingly.  He felt that he was hot on the trail, and was almost certain that this man had the Blossom Gem in the back.  "_The_ rock" he was referring to must be it.  

"Yes," answered Harry.  "I do believe so."

"Ah yes, then I can help you.  Just wait here and I'll go in the back."

Harry waited for five minutes, feeling especially proud of himself.  But when the man reappeared, his face fell.  The storekeeper was carrying a tray of engagement rings.  Harry sighed, and the salesman, upon hearing this looked almost crestfallen.  

"Not to your taste?" he set the tray down upon the counter none-too-gently and pulled a handkerchief from his back trouser pocket, which he used to wipe his forehead.  

"I can't seem to please you warlocks lately.  Well, my competitor always has something to your taste."

"Competitor?" asked Harry, suddenly very interested.  "What does he sell?"

"Oh, mostly books, but if you're looking for rocks I've heard he swindled one of you people into giving him one for an old book.  It's supposed to be a real beauty.  It's not a ring though...  More like a paperweight."  

*****

Hermione couldn't help feeling a little lonely as she left the club, seeing happy couples entering and exiting.  Couples that were literally plastered over each other and others who looked even more well-suited simply by the fact that they maintained a respectable distance.  When she saw two Muggles give each other an all too friendly peck before getting into the taxi, Hermione recoiled out of reflex for such a public display.  However, she had to admit to herself that she wasn't disgusted at all.  She was intrigued.  She was envious.

When she remembered a second later that Draco was waiting for her at home, she greeted the idea with a happy anxiety rather than pure trepidation.  The incident the previous night was forgotten.  In that moment she was able to convince herself that her reason for aiding Ron on his investigation (and it was _his_, not hers) was simply to prove to Narcissa and anyone else who might wonder that this was Draco Malfoy.  He saw his piercing blue-gray eyes in her imagination, looking at her full of love.  She remembered the feel of his hair in her hands.  Hermione did not stop to think that the image in her mind was one of a young man wearing a woollen Auror's coat.  

The moment of excitement didn't last long, but she managed to maintain her happiness at Draco's being waiting in her flat until she apparated there and found it empty.  

She had chosen the stairwell outside the flat for her entry, not wanting to disturb Draco if he was sleeping.  Her watch read 12:10.  Mostly likely he was still awake, but one never knew.  When she stepped through the door and entered the living room she only saw Crookshanks, and therefore deduced immediately that Draco had gone to bed.  But the bedroom was empty as well.  So were the two toilets, and she had passed the kitchen on the way to the bedroom so she knew that was empty.  

Hermione was baffled.  A note of fear crept over her as she realized how much she had wanted Draco to be there.  Maybe he had left for good!  

The dilemma of Narcissa's rejection and of Harry's wonderful kiss suddenly meant very little to her.  She really did love Draco, and all the rest didn't matter.  So what if he was acting a little strange?  In time he would tell her what had happened to him.  Or he would if he was still there.  Maybe he had found out about Harry and had given up on her.  Maybe she had ruined everything.  

She felt dizzy, and so she looked absently for the chair as her mind began to collapse in on itself.  She was vaguely aware of the soft cushion beneath her.

And then the door opened.  She turned with such a feeling of gratitude shining from her face that it would have been impossible for a stranger to recognize her as the same woman she had been one minute prior.  But her face fell immediately.

Draco had entered the room looking hurried, but otherwise well.  His face and hands were covered in dirt, as were his robes.  The bothersome scar on his cheek was there, meaning he had not performed his glamour, which by the way Hermione realized that she had never heard of before.  But she was irritated to some degree by the sheepish expression he wore upon seeing her waiting in the living room.  She couldn't explain this irritation.  Why wasn't she happier to see him?  It was all too confusing.  

"How long have you been waiting?" he asked.

Hermione looked at her watch blankly.  "10 minutes?"

He looked even more sheepish at this, and stammered, "Well, I was worried.  I...uh went out to find you."  

Hermione surveyed the state of his robes, as well as the muddy footprints he was leaving on her carpet.  "Where?" she replied, with a clear edge to her voice. "In a mandrake pot?"

Draco's mouth crinkled downward at her tone, as if he was struggling not to say anything he would regret.  Hermione knew that face well enough to want to avoid it.  "Business took a little longer today," she quickly explained.  Her tone was barely more peaceable, despite her attempts, and Draco's control cracked.

He snorted.  "I can understand that seeing as _I'm_ such a complicated person.  It must be simply exhausting trying to find out my true identity."

Hermione flushed red, unable to deny it to save her life.  But she wasn't embarrassed to have been found out.  "No, I'm trying to find hard evidence that you are who you say you are," she said.  When his eyebrows rose in that sarcastic way, she spat out her well-rehearsed justification.  "I'm doing this because I know your mother is wrong."

"Then why didn't you tell me you were doing it?" he spat.  "Why did you go behind my back?"  Draco shook his head.  "I saw your little note in the rubbish.  Burnt into ash?  Very secretive, Hermione.  It doesn't seem the sort of thing a person would do for a legitimate investigation."  

"You went through my rubbish!?" exclaimed Hermione.   Her anger at being caught had been checked by a small tinge of guilt, but this invasion was somehow the final straw.  She didn't like being held accountable by this man, and she didn't like it that his muddy feet were all over her carpet, and she didn't like that he somehow always made her feel wrong.

"Who cares if I did?!" he snarled.  "I don't think it's very much to ask that you trust me."

"Oh that's just brilliant!" she cried.  "You haven't explained anything about yourself!  You haven't told me anything that I feel I can believe.  So if I go to get answers another way, then I can't be blamed."

"Ah ha!  So you DID go to get _answers_.  My mother has nothing to do with all of this, and I just...I just don't understand.  I can't tell you things, Hermione.  I can't, and all I ask is that you trust my reasons.  Why?  WHY is that so difficult?"

There was a long silence as Hermione thought.  Finally, her mouth opened.  "I don't know..."  

"You don't know _why_ it's difficult?"  His tone was mocking and spiteful, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"No, I don't know _you._"

In less than a second he was upon her.  She wasn't sure how he had crossed the space between them.  He was there, and then he was shaking her.  The dirt and grime on his hands was smeared all over her clothes and face as he groped at her, and pulled her closer.  When she struggled, he practically yanked her back into his arms.  "Stop it!" she screamed, terrified both by his force and the fact that he was using it.

"I'm Draco!" he cried.  "I'm Draco!"  He pawed at her robes, placed his filthy hands upon her neck and gripped so tightly Hermione thought he was trying to kill her.  But instead he roughly lifted her face so she was staring at him.  

"Stop it!" she cried, desperately pulling at his robes because pushing didn't work.  She pummeled his chest with her hands, but could not dislodge him.  What was he doing?!  

"Look at me, Hermione," he commanded.  The pawing had stopped, but she was still trapped, still half suffocated in his grip.

"Get off!" she pushed him with all the force she could muster, but he barely budged an inch.

"DO IT!" he cried.  "I won't hurt you, I promise.  Just look at me and see.  I _am_ Draco!"

His hands were now in her robes, pulling her to him by the hips as she squirmed.  Her arms were trapped under his in a vice grip.  "Stop, please!"

She wrenched her right arm free, and scratched at his face.  Right over the same cheek where he had the scar.  

Her action brought their struggle to an immediate halt, and he released her as suddenly as he had seized her.  Draco held his hand to his cheek in surprise; perhaps utter shock would be a better phrase.  Though but a light scratch, Draco looked like a man whose heart had been wrenched from his chest.  He might have opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione didn't care.  She couldn't believe what he had tried to do!  

While she had the chance, she had managed to pull her wand from her robes.  She pointed it at her dumbstruck lover, and shouted, "Stupefy!"  

**********


	10. All in the Past Part II

Disclaimer:  I'm not making money off this, and these aren't my characters. 

Author's Notes: This has been sitting around on my computer for months now, while I tried to break my writer's block.  But since it's been so long, I'll post it now and write the rest of the flashback later.  Even if later is next summer…

Dedicated to IcyStormz because without her this most likely would have sat around on my hard drive for a few more months.

Chapter X: All in the Past II

by Jenni

*****

_Hermione didn't know whether to be angry or thankful that Harry had insisted the she be relocated to the spell-cracking division. She was certainly at home here, and had already devised a counter curse for the elusive finger-meld spell. She'd seen that before, and it wasn't pretty. Nevertheless, she would have preferred to be with Harry and Ron. They had never been separated before, and the thought that one of them might...might die without her being there was simply unbearable. But it was Harry's unit, and he had kicked her out. Her latest accident seemed to have rattled him past the point of reason, for although she was a soldier and had accepted the consequences of war, it seemed perfectly logical to Harry to force her to leave the battlefield, where she might possibly and unexpectedly die. _

_ "Punter," she mumbled._

_The Auror working to her left seemed offended. _

_"Not you," she clarified quickly._

_He hurumphed and went back to his proofs. But just then a shadow appeared over her desk. _

_"Granger?" it addressed her. _

_She looked up to see a pair of large, hairy nostrils looming over her, and over the bridge of an enormous beak nose were the thick-rimmed_, _plastic spectacles_ _of her supervisor, Amos Finkle._

_ "Yes, sir?" He held no rank, but she called him sir anyway. He looked like a "sir." _

_ "This just came in for us. It's a new curse. Never been heard of," he explained. _

_ "You want me to crack this all by myself?!" She leafed quickly through the folder._

_ "Of course not. Assemble your team by tomorrow morning." _

_ And that was that. There was no hope of getting to the officer's mess tonight. No hope of seeing Harry or Ron or Ginny before they left for their latest mission. Not with this new batch of work. _

_She stayed until it was lights out, and then she stayed until lights out was past. Only when the clock displayed 23:12, did she emerge from the office, drunk with exhaustion. She stumbled over the step on the way out, attracting the attention of the guards, whom she ignored. They were probably trying not to laugh. _

_She looked around for Harry, wondering if he would come this evening as he sometimes did when work took too long. But he was not there. Nor was Ron. They were most likely in the barracks, preparing for whatever it was they were preparing for. So she tucked the folder under her arm and headed to the women's barracks on the eastern side of the camp, all the while thinking. The list of names had been written up. The owls had been sent...was there anything else?_

_Once again she tripped, but this time over a person. A flurry of papers were scattered, and Hermione realized as the second person–a man–shouted "Accio papers!" that she had not been the only late worker. _

_"Watch where you're going!" ordered the gruff voice of...Draco Malfoy? She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him. Perhaps the end of seventh year at Hogwarts? He was taller, it seemed, and broader in the shoulders. His hair was still slicked back, but she could tell from its slightly mussed nature that he had been running his hands through it during the day. But most importantly, he was wearing the uniform of an Auror. She could see the red shoulder insignia as he bent over to collect the papers that he had dropped once more in his agitation. It seemed strange to her that she didn't feel more surprised by this, but indeed, the sight of Draco Malfoy in an Auror's uniform was vaguely familiar to her for some reason. _

_But immediately after he stood to face her, he seemed regretful for his tone when he saw her. "Oh," he said, without any particular inflection, rude or otherwise. "It's you, Granger. I'm sorry...they're just important files." _

_"Then you should be keeping them hidden," she snapped out of habit or perhaps in order that she might not be overwhelmed by his presence. "Honestly, the status of security here is far inferior to that in the Muggle world. People can just walk in and grab whatever they want..."_

_But Draco Malfoy didn't seem to be listening. Instead, he fumbled with his folder, straightening its contents. "Can I buy you a drink?" he interrupted._

_Hermione was put off. Her face turned red, but something about the urgency of his voice made her feel amenable to his offer. She almost accepted, but then she remembered that she was tired, and it was late, and..._

_"Well, not now, of course," he announced. "But when the mess is open." He was nervous, and Hermione could tell. But Draco Malfoy didn't stammer when he was nervous as other people did; his tone became callous and irate. But she felt somehow that he didn't mean it._

_She smiled, not unkindly. "Maybe."_

_Malfoy's delight seemed genuine, but it was hidden all too quickly behind a confident smirk that she could barely see under the floodlights. "You know, you're quite attractive when you're not covered in mud."_

_Hermione blinked once before her ire got the best of her. She couldn't understand what he meant by that. ** Mud? **Was that supposed to be some sort of play on 'Mudblood?' "Excuse me?" she inquired. _

_Malfoy lost a little confidence at her tone. "W..well, I suppose you don't remember, do you? But..."_

_"Oh, just get out of my way, you poncey little ferret. I'm tired and I want to go to bed."_

_She ran away before she could see him kick the dirt in disappointment. _

_*****_

_The night had been so distressing to Harry that he had barely registered Hermione's absence at the mess. The reason for his disturbance was Ron._

_"You can't ask me to do this, Ron," he had said. "It's suicide!"_

_"He was my brother, Harry. I've got to do something."_

_Harry shook his head. "Well, it's not as if you're not already fighting evil. You don't need to do anymore."_

_"But this was his mission!" Ron continued to argue. His voice was raised, and was also jarringly sober. Too sober for the mess. People were beginning to stare because of his lack of levity, which was unwelcome in such a setting. Harry, motioned for his friend to quiet down. _

_"There's no guarantee that I'll have any influence over who they pick to go to Romania."_

_Ron fumed. "You're the Great Harry Potter. Everyone listens to you."_

_He was furious; he was unreasonable, and Harry knew from experience that nothing could change Ron's course of mind except for time that they did not have. Sooner or later Ron would do something stupid for the sake of revenge. Sooner there was tomorrow's mission. Later there was the mission to Romania. It was supposed to be top secret, and how Ron had discovered it was beyond Harry's ability to guess. But Fred had asked to be one of the team members, and now Ron felt duty bound to take his place. If he could pull some strings, Ron could have his wish. And then he would have something to live for...some sort of purpose that might keep him alive longer than tomorrow. But Romania was just...well, it was suicide... Straight into the Death Eaters' claws. How could he send his best mate into that? _

_"Ron," he pleaded, "I can't do anything." _

_"You'll do it if you're my friend," warned Ron. "For seven straight years of school I followed you around like a lost puppy. I fought by your side! I still follow your every order. Why won't you do this for me?" _

_"You're not trained!"_

_"I'll GET trained." _

_Harry sank into his chair, took a quick shot of fire whiskey and looked away. Anywhere but Ron. "I don't want to be the cause of your death. Not like Sirius." _

_"You wouldn't be." _

_Ron leaned forward to place his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Look mate, I'm a grown man. I can make my own choices. I just need a little help with this one." _

_When Harry merely shrugged, Ron sat back down. Yet he was undeterred. He was determined to be heard. _

_"He was my brother, Harry. And they…...they practically mutilated him. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I just want to finish what he started."_

_"You want revenge," corrected Harry. He longed for another shot of whiskey as he shuffled in his chair. "Oh Hell, Ron." _

_"Think about it at least."_

_Harry sighed. He couldn't do this for Ron. He'd do anything for him, but he couldn't send him to Romania. Ron wasn't capable of it...Ron wasn't trained. Ron was hasty; he was going for the sake of a vendetta; he couldn't work undercover. He would compromise the entire mission. He would die._

_Harry was aware of his friend's impatience, which was being hidden only under a mask of necessary camaraderie. He had never seen Ron this way: coldly calculating. Even headed towards manipulative, but Harry understood. Nevertheless, he wished Hermione was with them. Even the sound of her banter with Ron would be more welcoming to him than Ron's steely anger._

_Hermione? Where was she? Probably still at work._

_"Harry, you're not answering me," Ron pushed. _

_"It's out of the question."_

_He remembered how Hermione had begged him not to go to the Ministry. He remembered how he hadn't listened. _

_"Ron, it's not as if what we're doing now doesn't matter..."_

_"There's got to be a Weasley on that team. THAT team, Harry. It was Fred's work! It was his research, and when this mission succeeds, I want his name to be remembered." But when Harry rolled his eyes, Ron shot up from his seat, letting his chair clatter to the ground. "And as God is my witness, Harry, if you don't help me, I'll find some other way to go."_

_"You're asking too much, Ron."_

_"Yeah, too much for you," he spat before stalking towards the exit. _

_*****_

_The officer's mess was nearly empty due to the recent increase in offensive activity or something to that effect. Yes, even the officers were gone. Juniors to the front, seniors to the board room. Hermione felt the distinction acutely. Although, she knew no lack of valor, she felt like a coward, sitting here spooning her over-boiled peas into her mouth, thinking about how she'd rather have carrots while her compatriots--possibly her dearest friends--were dying in droves. **Goddamn Harry**, she thought. If she had been less angry she might have been able to understand his reasoning, but she could not. She felt only that she had been left behind, and that Harry had no cosideration at all for her concerns and desires. But by Jove she wasn't going to cry. Crying was for children. No...she wouldn't..._

_"Are you all right, Granger?"_

_Hermione knew the voice immediately this time, but if she had not, she nevertheless would have recognized the initials embroidered upon the proffered handkerchief, which he held in front of her._

_"Fine," she snapped, more harshly than she had intended. It was embarrassing that he had caught her crying. It was even more embarrassing that he had refused to ignore it, yet she hadn't meant to sound hostile._

_"You don't look fine," Draco answered as she struggled to say something more civil. However, his genuine concern irritated her. She couldn't help wondering why Malfoy had such a hard time staying out of other peoples' business, hers specifically. After all, he wouldn't have walked straight up to oh, say...Major Stanton and handed **him** a handkerchief. _

_"Why should you care at all?" she asked, meaning to convey that she felt his concern to be unnecessary, and was about to continue with a lecture on sexism in the military, when she saw the brief flicker of injury in his eyes._

_His handkerchief was quietly retracted. _

_"I don't know," he replied. "Why should **I **care about a filthy Mudblood?"_

_Hermione leapt from her seat with her arm raised to slap him. Yet he caught it within an inch of his cheek and did not release her wrist. _

_"I'm evil to the core, aren't I?" he said. "I couldn't be seen with someone of your pedigree, can I?"_

_Hermione was almost exhaling flames as he finished, completely oblivious to the longing that Draco restrained as he stared at her lips. She was oblivious also to the way he held her wrist: so gently that she could have pulled free at any second. She was oblivious to the fact that she had not done so. Her hand was now in his, and he had lowered it away form his face. Now he was pressing the soft cloth of his handkerchief into her palm. Only then did she realize that she had not pulled away._

_"I'm not all bad, Hermione."_

_ She blinked with sudden understanding. "You stupid ferret, that's not what I meant."_

_ He smiled. "Let's go to the club. I'll buy you a drink."_

_ For a moment she considered it, but finally could not bring herself to say either "yes" or "no."_

_ "You said you'd think about it," he urged her gently. _

_ "Malfoy, you just called me a Mudblood."_

_ "I didn't mean it!" he cried, looking exasperated. He shifted from one foot to the other, looking somewhere between perturbed and hurt.  "You must know I didn't mean it."_

_ Hermione sighed before grabbing her purse. "No I don't," she replied curtly before ducking around him and exiting the mess. _

_ As soon as she passed through the door she looked down to see that her hand still clutched his handkerchief. _

_ *****_

_Hermione did not use the handkerchief, nor did she try to sniff the cologne, nor did she carry it with her always...nor did she throw it out. Far from being aggravated by Malfoy's persistence, she found it rather flattering. What's more, her sessions of banter with him had become the only reason for getting up in the morning. She found work dull even though spell-cracking was a worthy mental challenge. To a former field officer, desk work was impossible.  She badly wanted to be doing something._

_It took her only a few unscheduled meetings with Malfoy—she was hesitant to call them 'dates'—for her to realize that he felt the same way.  They were linked by one common feeling of uselessness.  Draco had never said anything explicit, but she could recognize it in the way he would sigh as he picked up his papers.  In the tone of voice in which he spoke of his superior officers.  In the way he did not try to console her as she complained about how Harry had simply cast her out of his unit, but listened attentively.  _

_While at first she had felt uncomfortable speaking to him, for there were times when his gray eyes would meet hers, and he would refuse to look away.  She had found herself blushing, even a little irritated by his confidence.  Yet she had found herself unable to keep from confiding in him.  Perhaps it wasn't so much that she found him trustworthy as the fact that she was lonely.  But as time wore on, she confided in him more and more, until she began to have imaginary conversations with him in her head when the real Draco was unavailable.  _

_And once when he had dared to stare at her with those un-deterrable silver eyes, she allowed herself the pleasure of staring back.  What had followed was a comfortable silence of a full minute.  A comfortable silence.  _

_It was at that moment that Hermione realized there was no good reason not to let Draco buy her that drink.  It had become something of a joke, in fact.  He would always appear at the club, and make his offer.  She would refuse with some sort of witticism, which she had spent an entire day concocting, and then he would sit beside her anyway.  Unfortunately, the day she decided was also the day when Ron and Harry returned from the front.  Needless to say, she forgot all about the club in her excitement.  _

_But over the few weeks when her friends had been gone, Draco had become something more than an old acquaintance.  She found that even when she was arm-in-arm with her two best friends that she missed him.  His rare smiles, his cocky gaze, his ready ear…his understanding.  _

_The next time she went to the club, she searched for him with her eyes.  Ron was right beside her, behaving awfully cheery considering his recent tragedy.  Hermione recalled seeing Harry charming his friend's Butterbeer earlier, and laughed at the inherent implications.  Well, Ron was being rather amorous…_

_"You have the most beautiful eyes I've ever seen," he said, "They're so clear I can see myself in them."_

_"Ron, I think that's one of the worst openers I've ever heard."  _

_"Ok, how about this one…"_

_But Hermione threw her hands up.  She didn't want to listen to this.  Wasn't that Draco standing in the back?  Why didn't he come to her like usual?_

_She told Ron to go ask Harry, but Ron refused.  _

_Wait, where had Draco gone?  Without stopping to think about Ron, she bolted from her seat and grabbed her Auror's cloak.  "I've got to go!"_

_She raced out toward the exit through which Draco had left, bumping into several people as she tried to get through the door.  And when she was through, she saw him waiting for her and smiled._

*****


	11. Logoi Ergon

Author's Notes:  Well, I've decided that the reason many fics get so voluminous is not that the stories themselves are epic in scope, but that the author writes 500-1000 words notes at the beginning.  So we're going to try that because I meant for this fic to be around 100,000 words when I started it, but it's only about 40,000.  It seems that I've been writing and writing forever, but the story never gets any larger.  This chapter has taken me a month and it's only 2,000 words.  I can write a ten page essay faster than this!  

At any rate, some of you wrote to say that you were confused about what was going on.  I too am extremely confused because I've been writing this silly thing for two years in a row.  In between my sporadic chapters, I've gone off to England, I've come back from England, I've finished two years of college and worked 2 jobs and 1 internship.  But I am fiercely determined to finish this thing even though I no longer really know what's going on in this story and my Harry Potter obsession has kind of died for the present.  But maybe a summary of what's gone on before would be wise:

Summary of chapter's 1-10:

'The Promise' begins after the Great War against Voldemort has ended.  **Our three heroes Harry, Ron and Hermione have just combined their savings together in order to start a detective agency**, and they are just popping the champagne bottle when in walks their first client: Narcissa Malfoy.  Her son Draco has been missing for two months and she is desperate to find him.  **Hermione is stunned by this news because during the war she and Draco had a brief love affair**, which ended when he went away on a mission and did not return to her even after the war had ended.  Narcissa asserts that Draco was coming back for Hermione as he had promised, but Hermione tells Ron that she doesn't believe it.  

But then, strangely enough, **as soon as Hermione returns to her flat, she finds Draco, wounded and bedraggled in her hallway**.  His only request before he faints is that she not touch him.  

After he awakes Hermione is still wary of Draco, and is even more confused by her growing attraction to Harry.  But, still unwilling to relinquish the great love of her past, Hermione reinitiates her affair with Draco, although she feels somehow as if this is wrong.  To add to her suspicions, her **Draco behaves strangely**: possessive and at times violent, and he refuses to give her any explanation for his long absence from her side.  Also, he disappears to the bathroom once an hour in order to hide this mysterious scar on his face that he says was put there by a woman.  

**The drama is brought to a head when Narcissa appears to see her son, only to declare that Draco is not Draco at all.**  Because he loves Hermione, Harry refuses to accept this, feeling that he has no right to take Draco away from Hermione (as he believes he once did before) and that by resuming the investigation he would be doing just that.  Narcissa, however, insists that this man is an imposter, for her son had been obsessed with a certain **old book called the 'Logoi Ergon**,' and this new person had no idea what that was.  Yet Harry still refuses to continue the search, deeming Narcissa's evidence as insubstantial.  

However, Hermione is desperate to know if her suspicions are founded and she teams up with Ron, who (like any good investigator) simply wants to know that truth, in order to continue the investigation.  Their search leads them to a Muggle nightclub frequented by one of the Aurors in charge of the Ministry's investigation of a fight outside of the Leaky Cauldron.  They need to get access to the wand-reading reports on that particular night because Ron suspects that Malfoy was involved.  

While Ron sweet-talks the Auror, Hermione returns home to find an empty house.  A few moments later Draco appears, looking as if he had been digging in the dirt.  Draco has also discovered that Hermione does not trust that he is who he says he is.  **They fight and Draco becomes violent, so Hermione stupefies him and runs away.  **

Meanwhile, without his two partners, Harry has begun a more routine search for the Blossom Gem, which Arthur Weasley has reported stolen from the Ministry Museum of Ancient Magic in London.  Harry finds himself in a Muggle antique shop in Bath, and the proprietor points him to a jewelry story whose owner has recently boasted of making a great trade.  **The trade was a beautiful gemstone (presumably the Blossom Gem) for an old book…  **

Chapter XI: The Logoi Ergon

by Jenni

*****

Hermione ran from her flat, not even caring that Draco couldn't follow her.  She wasn't running from him anymore, but from the terrifying collapse of their love.  Her feet carried her away from it all to somewhere, anywhere where it wouldn't matter that she didn't love Draco Malfoy anymore.  She feared him as she never had in her entire life, not even when they had been at Hogwarts and he had been so cruel.  He wasn't even being cruel now.  Brutish, secretive, but not undermining.  He was not hurtful.  And yet she feared him.  

She did not cry until she ran out of breath at a street corner near Harry's flat.  She hadn't even known that she was going to Harry's flat, but now it seemed the logical choice.  And yet, she didn't want to confront him.  He would comfort her, but she knew that inwardly he would rejoice at the rupture with Draco.  And so she broke into sobs, leaning on the street sign instead of her friend to support herself.  It did not hold her.  She sank lower to the cold earth and buried her face in her hands, weeping like the rain and yet still attempting to conceal the heaves coming from her chest.  

Hermione was in shock.  Always, always she had tried to have faith in Draco.  At first it had been so easy when they were alone together at the base camp.  He had been so easy to read then.  He had been so eager for her approval and yet so afraid to show his feelings.  And then when he had left she had held him at his word that he would return.  Even when he hadn't she still felt on some level that he would come to her.  But she had never anticipated the day when she would stop wanting it; the day when she would wish he had stayed in his gothic castle or wherever he lived and left her alone. 

"Why?" she said out loud.  The rest choked in her throat as she continued to cry.  "Why?  Why?" was all that came out, but inside she was berating herself.  _Why can't I love him?  Why can't I?_

It was not Draco that she hated, but herself because she couldn't trust him as he had asked.  She always had to have the answers and the absolute truth and somehow faith was no longer enough.  He had kept his promise and returned to her!  Why couldn't she keep hers to love him always?

Her mind told her that it was her fault that it was all ruined now.  It shouldn't matter if Draco behaved a little differently.  But, then again he had attacked her.

_He didn't attack me.  He was trying to reach me._

Even telling herself that did not help matters.  Deep in her soul she knew that everything was wrong: Draco, Draco and her, Draco's behavior, Draco's face.  Everything seemed wrong except her instincts.  And yet she did not, could not accept that her fears were reasonable.  For so long she had wanted Draco back.  She could not now bring herself to give him up.

Hermione simply wanted the old Draco.  The boy in the woolen coat, who had looked at her with such love in his eyes that it made her want to leap into his arms every time she saw him.  If only she could go back in time to those precious few moments of complete happiness.  

If only she could turn back time.

*****

Draco felt silly leaning against the alley wall like a little school kid hiding from Filch.  But Hermione couldn't enter his barracks without authorization so he was forced to wait outside for her on the chance that she was still coming.  He hoped she would keep their date.  He badly wanted to see her, but she was already a half hour late.

He flipped a knut into the air and caught it.  Heads he would peek around the corner.  Tails he would stay put.

It landed tails.  Draco peeked anyway.

_He didn't worry that she had changed her mind about him, but it irritated him that she had probably been detained at work.  By work.  By her own sense of responsibility for her work, which ensured she would work to the latest hour and be too tired to come see him._

_Or even worse, she had forgotten.  Draco felt that was actually worse than being stood up on purpose.  _

_Ten more minutes passes and then Hermione's step at last was heard in the gravel behind him._

_"Sorry I'm late," she said.  Her tone and countenance were apologetic, yet rushed.  "I ran into a million people on the way."_

_"A million?" he asked with a skeptical lilt._

_"Well, maybe just Major Baines, Lieutenant Patil and Harry.  Not in that order, though."  She kissed him then, and took his hand to lead him to the door._

_"What excuse did you give to Potter?"_

_"None," she paused, not sounding the least bit wary of the topic.  Then she asked, "Why?  Do you want me to tell him?"_

_The question was posed so innocently that it angered Draco.  He supposed she had never thought of it before.  "No," he answered too quickly.  "Anyway, what's to tell?"_

_It was dark in the alley, but he could still see the hurt upon her face.  _

_"I'll tell him eventually," she offered._

_"Oh, don't worry about it," he said, but this time with too much congeniality.  "Now let's go upstairs."_

_But Hermione seemed far more reticent about it now, and half way up the stairs she froze.  "I'm tired," she said.  "I think I just want to go back to my barracks."_

_Draco's heart fell, knowing he had blown it with his show of indifference, and yet unable to end his charade.  "Don't be silly," he said.  "You can sleep upstairs."_

_"No, I really just want to leave," she protested._

_Draco was unwilling to release her hand; yet she was obviously no longer in the mood, and come to think of it neither was he.  That stupid Potter had sullied their evening._

_"Fine," he said, "I'll walk you back."_

_"No, please, I think I'll just apparate."_

_But she let him walk her down the steps to the door, which he opened for her._

_"You're not angry are you?"  She touched his face with her hand._

_Angry? he thought.  About Potter?  About her going home?  Did she want him to be angry?_

_Draco shook his head, but did not give her a definitive answer until she let her hand drop from his cheek.  He restrained himself from catching it, but he couldn't help the truth slipping out.  "I'm actually quite furious."_

_Hermione smiled then for some inexplicable reason that it would take a woman to understand and stood on her toes to kiss him quickly.  But it turned into a long kiss, and then an even longer one.  As her arms wrapped about him, he released the door.  _

_"I'll just sleep here," she whispered between kisses._

_He laughed._

_*****_

_One morning a few days later, Hermione sat on Draco's bed, playing with the buttons on his shirt, which she had just fastened for him.  Each would be going to their separate ways in a few minutes, but they let the few minutes remaining draw out as they enjoyed each other's company.  _

_Hermione's gear lay packed in the corner.  She would be going on her first away mission in many months.  Stupid Potter had suddenly realized she was necessary.  _

_"I'll miss you," she told Draco, but he did not answer at first.  She found this frustrating.  After all, he had pursued her, had won her, but sometimes it seemed that he didn't want her.  He never said anything that would imply he wanted more than sex.  Somehow Hermione felt this was not the case, but her gentle disposition ensured that she felt the full pain of the situation as if it were.  To make matters worse, she was fairly certain that she was in love with him._

_The realization had come to her gradually, always accompanied by the fear that he did not feel the same way.  She had come close to telling her friends once, but had changed her mind. It wasn't as if she were ashamed of Draco, but somehow she felt that making the relationship known would jinx it.  Plus, Ron and Harry were frequently gone on short recon missions, meaning they weren't present to be told._

_"Tell me why you're going again," he asked._

_"Because Harry is concerned about Ron.  He thinks if it were the three of us together again that Ron might calm down a little."_

_"So you're not only going because Potter asked you?"_

_Hermione smiled at his brief show of insecurity.  "Well yes, but Harry is my best friend.  I've always done what he asked."_

_Draco said nothing again, but kissed her quickly.  Too quickly.  The gesture seemed dismissive.  _

_"Good luck."_

_"Thank you," she said._

_"I'm not jealous of Potter, you know."_

_Hermione's eyebrows rose, although she did not attempt to contradict what he said.  She both was irritated by and enjoyed his fears.  They were irritating because no woman likes to be suspected of infidelity, and yet they were enjoyable since they were the only obvious proofs of Draco's affections.  _

_"I am jealous, though," he continued.  "I wish I had a good mission right now.  I feel useless."_

_"I'm only going on a reconnaissance mission.  I won't be in enemy territory longer than twenty minutes."  She stood to get her things.  "Harry will be there to protect me," she teased._

_Draco was unreadable as he stood and grabbed her pack in order to hand it to her.  _

_"Don't die," was all he said._

_"Would you care if I did?" she asked, strapping on her gear.  'Oh Draco,' she thought to herself.  'Don't tell me you wouldn't.'_

_As if he heard her mental bequest, Draco left off any sarcastic remarks for once.  He said nothing at all in fact, although his eyes were shining with some unspoken fervor.  He seized her hands in his and pressed them warmly.  And who knows what words would have been spoken between them had the loudspeakers over the camp not blared the hour.  _

_"I'll be late!" cried Hermione, pulling away from him.  She ran for the door, ready to speed through it and down the stairs.  But when she reached the doorway, she turned around to take one last look at her lover.  His gray eyes revealed nothing, but hers were beseeching.  She hoped he could read her thoughts just one more time, for they were saying, 'Kiss me.  Kiss me just once more."_

_Draco did not read her mind, however, or if he did, he did not budge.  When the speakers blared again, Hermione turned from his room and rushed down the stairs.  _

_He did not come after her._

_*****_

Harry was awakened by the sound of his doorbell being pressed repeatedly followed by and also accompanying frantic knocking.  It was late.  His clock read 2:00 AM.  Thus, his first thought was that someone had died or perhaps another war was starting, and he raced downstairs without giving a thought to his appearance.  

As soon as he swung his door open he found himself half naked before a haggard-looking Hermione, who stood with arms crossed as if huddling from the cold.  She was bedraggled and had obviously been crying.  Despite the fight they'd had at their last parting, his heart went out to her, and he led her into his foyer and grabbed a box of Muggle tissues from a closet.  He didn't know how the Wizarding world lived without them.  Handkerchiefs were so impractical.  

"What happened?" came his inevitable question as he sat her down in the living room.

Hermione shook her head, unable to speak.  She hiccoughed while she blew her nose, but her eyes were dry.  She had cried herself out of tears.

"Can I just spend the night here?" she asked.  Her voice was thick from sobbing.  

Harry nodded before going to prepare a bed for her.  

When he returned with blankets and pillows, he found her staring at the items he had left sitting on his coffee table.  On it was a note from the Ministry and a box containing the object in the pursuit of which he had spent much of his past week.  With pleasure he watched as her hands strayed to it and opened it.  The Blossom Gem, intact and undamaged.  

A soft gasp escaped her lips.  "You found it," she said with some degree of pride.  

"I did," he said, setting down the pillows.  But when he saw her face scrunch up as if she were going to cry again, he enfolded her in his arms.  He stroked her hair as she sobbed into his shoulder, but he knew this was not the time to progress things between them.  Instead, he set her on his couch and sat across from her on his coffee table, hoping rather than expecting an explanation.

Hermione wiped pathetically at her eyes.  "Ron and I followed his lead," she said.  "Draco found out.  I'm sorry, Harry.  We should have stayed with you.  I mean, this isn't Hogwarts anymore.  We solve cases for a living, not for our own inclinations."

Harry swallowed his own hurt that she and Ron had gone behind his back.  

"Well, your inclinations have generally been right in the past.  Maybe I should have gone with _you_."

At this her eyes began to well up again, but she suppressed it this time.  "I don't know what's wrong with me, Harry," she said.

"Nothing's wrong with you.  In fact, I know something that may make you feel better.  Or maybe not better exactly, but maybe it would help you to understand your feelings about Malfoy a little more."

Hermione blinked at him, not quite comprehending.

Then Harry told his story:

*****

The day before, after leaving the Antique Shop, Harry had rushed immediately to the jewelry store to which he had been pointed, hoping he could get there before it closed.  He was not even thinking about the significance of the "old book."  His only thought was that he might find the Blossom Gem within the hour so he could go home, put his feet up and brood over Hermione in peace.  

He did not apparate, although this might have made things easier, for all buildings in Bath were that same sandy color and consequently he felt as if he were going in circles.  But there were too many Muggles here.  Muggles this way and that, shopping and eating ice cream.  Drinking tea.  There were tourist Muggles and buses full of Muggles.   After being cut off from the road by a particularly long chain of tour buses, Harry felt that he would never find the jewelry shop.  

Nevertheless, fifteen minutes later he arrived breathless and sweating at the door of his destination.  As a consequence no one took much notice of him, for they were already in that lazy mindset that settles in at the end of every workday.  Perhaps if he had simply 'poofed' into the shop, or perhaps if it had not been so apparent that he had been running like a Muggle, they would have recognized him for who he was.  But they did not, and Harry had to walk to the cash register and cough loudly about seven times before anyone noticed him.

"Yes?" said the salesman.  

Harry noted his preoccupied demeanor.  He had been conversing with someone in the back room and was now quite reluctant to end the conversation.

"Er…can I speak to your manager?"

"I am the manager.  Did you want something?"

Harry hoped that he was in the right shop.  "Er, um…I'm looking for this gemstone.  It's big.  It looks like a paperweight."

The manager suddenly eyed him quite carefully.  "Are you a…a wizard?"

"Yes," said Harry.  "And if you have what I want, I'll pay you in gold."

And so the manager went into the store room, brought out the gem and placed it before Harry.  It took only two minutes of negotiation before the price was settled on ten Galleons and the manager—who obviously did not know the real worth of the gem—started packaging up the thing.  Harry realized that in the Muggle world those ten Galleons he had placed on the table were worth about one thousand pounds.  Still, he felt a little guilty, and was considering throwing in another five coins when the manager spoke.

"You wizard types are always welcome here." he said, putting a few more strips of packaging tape over the bubble wrap.

"Are we now?" replied Harry with interest.  "Was it a wizard who gave you this gem in the first place?"

"Oh, he didn't say, sir, but I think he must have been.  But then again, he didn't seem to know the value of the object.  All he wanted was this old book in Greek."

Harry's head shot up.  And his heart began to pound as he remembered Narcissa's words to him.  _He was always looking for this book…_  "Greek book?  What was the title?  Was it the 'Logoi Ergon'?" 

"Well, I don't know.   It used those Greek letters that I can't read."  

Harry thought for one long moment, searching his memory for every tiny detail he had learned about the Greek language.  "Can I have a piece of paper?"

"Certainly," answered the manager, though his tone suggested he was confused by the virulence with which Harry demanded it.  He retrieved the requested object nonetheless.

"Can you write what it said?"

The Manager thought for a moment.  "Well, it started with this," he said, and scrawled a mark onto the scrap paper:

'Λ'

'Lambda!' thought Harry.  'It's a Lambda!  It _was_ the Logoi, the book Narcissa had told him about!'

"Who wanted it?  Who traded this gem for it?"

The manager seemed stunned.  "I say, you seem oddly interested in this book.  Ought I have kept it for something more valuable?"

"Yes, yes, probably," said Harry in a rush.  "But who took the book?  What did he look like?"

The manger thought deeply.  "Well, I don't recall exactly.  I can't remember the face because all faces tend to blend together when you've been in retail as long as I have, but I do remember the hair.  It was this funny color…not quite blonde.  More like silver…"

*****

Hermione stared at Harry.  They still were sitting together on the couch, but she had stopped crying.  

"You see, Hermione?" he was finishing.  "Malfoy stole into the Museum and took the Blossom Gem so he could pawn it for this book!"

"But Harry, what does it all mean?"

Harry smiled.  "It means he's a thief, that's all.  He must have gotten into something terribly illegal after the war and maybe that's why he didn't come after you.  And now he won't tell you anything because he's running from the law.  And maybe Narcissa is in on it too!  Maybe she's deliberately trying to make us think that this isn't Draco so we won't arrest him for theft.  Anyway that's my theory."

Hermione just stared at him, looking very confused.  "Maybe…but we don't' even know what this book is for.  We don't know why Draco wanted it.  And well…there's still the possibility that this person isn't Draco at all.  We still don't have Ron's information."

She bit her lip and stared at the Gem.  "We'll have it tomorrow, I hope.  And we should find out what that book was for.  And…" she drifted off.

"And what?" asked Harry.  

"Draco is still stupefied in my flat.  I don't know what to do with him."  

Harry now felt resolute about what to do with Draco.  Before he had vacillated over whether or not he should tear Hermione away from him, but it had now become obvious that this Draco was not making his friend happy.  And if Hermione wasn't happy with Draco, then Harry certainly wasn't obligated to save their relationship.  Not because of some stupid mistake he'd made during the war.  That was then, this is now.

"Well, send him to prison," said Harry.  

"First we'll go to the Malfoy Manor and search for the _Logoi._  If he has it, we can present the case to the Ministry.  They'll be sure to prosecute."

Hermione looked up at him, her face aghast.  But he did not know if she was more shocked by the thought of Draco going to prison or by the fact that he had changed his mind so swiftly about the way with which to deal with Malfoy.  

Surprisingly, she offered no resistance to his plan.  She merely said, "Let's wait for Ron."

*****

Author's Notes Part II:  Well, I'm sorry that was such a dull chapter.  I hope some of you have an idea of what's going on.  Next time I'm hoping to post a summary of the flashbacks, then finish the flashbacks altogether.  That mean's you'll finally learn what Harry did to Draco and Hermione to make him feel so guilty.  


	12. All in the Past Part III

Summary of the Flashbacks:  The flashbacks proceed in non-sequential order and are highly fragmented.  The basic timeline is that during the war Hermione, Harry and Ron were all officers in the same unit, which Harry commanded.  Hermione is wounded in battle and rescued by Draco, who is serving as a spy.  Draco is frustrated by his lack of recognition for his role in the war against Voldemort, and is eager for any friendly word.  Meanwhile, for her own protection, Harry removes Hermione her from his unit to man a desk job.  In the same battle in which she had been wounded, Ron's brother, Fred, was killed, causing him to be irrational and impulsive.  Desperate for revenge, he seeks for Harry's influence in getting him a position for a highly dangerous mission of which Fred was supposed to be a part.  Recognizing the capacity for disaster, Harry refuses all of Ron's requests.  Meanwhile, he and Ron go on an away mission, leaving Hermione alone and feeling useless.  She and Draco meet, commiserate and become friends.  Upon the return of her friends, Hermione begins a love tentative love affair with Draco.  Harry then talks her back into rejoining the unit, hoping her presence might anchor Ron's temper.  She leaves, but when she returns she discovers the depth of Draco's passion.  It is implied that at sometime afterward they realize their mutual love.

Chapter XII: All in the Past Part III

by Jenni

_"Where's Hermione?" Harry demanded.  Beside him Ron shrugged and continued to stare at the table.  They were in the briefing room, waiting for their teammate, but the delay in their report was not what concerned Harry.  He wanted Hermione to come because afterwards he had something important to say to her: that he had just realized the depth of his stupidity in leaving her behind.  Having her back in the unit just felt right.  They were a team: her, Ron and him.  They belonged together.  He never should have stuck her with some desk job._

_After they had returned from the field sometime around noon, Hermione had promptly disappeared into her barracks.  She had been covered in sweat and dirt, but she was beautiful.  She had pulled her hair from its tight bun and tossed her curls over her shoulder.  Then she had smiled at him…  Right then, Harry knew that he could no longer deny his feelings.  He would tell her!_

_And then maybe she would feel the same way!  Already he was dreaming of a future with children and laughter._

_It puzzled him now as to why Hermione hadn't appeared at the meeting.  She had said that she would come.  It wasn't like her to be absent._

_They both began and ended without her, which angered Harry.  Beside him Ron had barely noticed.  He was still staring at the table when everyone got up to leave._

_"Are you coming?"_

_Ron blinked.  "Yeah…sorry."  Then he retreated once again into his brooding.  Harry swallowed uncomfortably, knowing there was nothing he could say to ease Ron's pain.  It had been several months now since Fred's death, but this was the first family member Ron had ever lost in the war.  _

_Harry didn't feel that platitudes or comfort would be of any use.  He knew from personal experience that only time could help.  _

_The two men separated at the door of headquarters with barely a goodbye.  Harry doubted that Ron even noticed that they had parted.  _

_'He won't forgive me for not giving him the mission," mused Harry.  'He is a grown man…I can't shelter him.'  He thought for not the first time that he should just speak to the colonel.  Just because he might recommend Ron was no indication that they would assign him to Romania._

_'I'm not sheltering him,' thought Harry.  'I'm sheltering myself.  I would never forget it if I sent him to his death.'_

_His feet took him to the women's barracks, where Hermione had disappeared earlier in the day.  He forced himself to remember the important words he had intended to tell her, and so pushed the matter of Romania out of his mind completely.  _

_Harry entered the barracks a minute or two later and ascended the stairs, dodging two women as they scurried down the stairs.  One of them recognized him and ran back up.  _

_"Major Potter!" she exclaimed.  Harry allowed himself to be distracted for a moment, but he didn't recognize the woman addressing him.  _

_"Yes?"_

_She was wearing her uniform blouse and skirt, but her hair was balled up in a white towel on the top of her head, which she was supporting with her hand.  She seemed nervous.  _

_"Are you looking for Hermione?"_

_Harry smiled.  "Yes, do you know where she is?"_

_The woman blushed a little.  She cast an unreadable glance at her friend, standing at the foot of the stairs.  Harry didn't know what it meant.  He suspected that he would have to be a woman to interpret it.   "Er…" the girl stuttered.  "I'll go tell her you're here."_

_"No, that's ok, I'll just go up," Harry said.  "Unless she's sleeping.  Is she sleeping?"_

_The woman blushed redder, which perplexed him.  "Maybe.  I'll go see.  Just…stay here."_

_And she ran upstairs.  Confused, Harry remained on the steps.  He didn't know why he had stopped.  He had barged into Hermione's room countless times.  Maybe it was just because he was nervous.  _

_Eventually the same woman came racing back down.  Harry looked at her anxiously.  _

_"She's not here," said the woman nervously.  "Have you tried the mess?"_

_Harry felt thwarted and aggravated.  He had no intention of going to the mess, where he might miss Hermione again.  Eventually she would be coming back to her room.  _

_"If you don't mind, I'll just go up and wait for her."_

_The woman blocked his path.  "You're really not allowed."_

_Harry felt his temper rise.  He looked for some rank insignia on the woman's collar, but found none.  Yet he knew intuitively that this woman was of a lower rank.  "Move out of my way," he ordered._

_She did as she was told, and Harry was free.  He continued to bounce up the stairs, still rehearsing what he planned to say inside his head.  "Hermione, I was foolish," he practiced.  He scrapped that.  "Hermione, I have these feelings…"  No.  "Hermione, I love you."_

_He walked down the corridor, found Hermione's door and raised his fist to knock.  Before his knuckles hit the wood, the door opened.  Hermione stepped out, looking bedraggled and wearing her uniform.  Harry noted that a few of the buttons were missing, and the ones that remained were hooked into the wrong holes of her coat.  _

_"Harry," she greeted._

_"What happened to you?"_

_"Oh, I…um…fell."_

_Harry felt that he could cry.  Hermione was standing in front of the door, blocking his entry.  Someone was inside the room.  _

_All his enthusiasm deflated as he surveyed his friend's appearance.  No wonder that girl had tried to stop him.  The whole barrack probably knew about Hermione's affair, whereas he had not heard so much as a hint.  _

_Harry didn't have the courage to ask who was waiting inside.  Instead, he forced himself to smile.  "I can see you're occupied," he said with a laugh.  He forced  the corners of his mouth up into a smile that he doubted was convincing.  But Hermione didn't ask him whether everything was all right like she usually did when she caught him pretending.  Harry felt his heart constrict with pain.  "I'll come back later," was all he said._

_He turned and walked numbly down the hallway, trying not to hear the door as Hermione closed it behind her again.  He heard a masculine voice asking her a question, but it was muffled.  His identity was safe._

__

_A week later Harry was sitting in the mess when the colonel found him.  He shot up from his seat and stood at attention._

_"Potter, how d'ye do?"_

_"Fine, Sir," he answered.  _

_"Good.  Good.  I'd like a word with you."_

_Ten minutes later they were circling the pond as the colonel puffed on his pipe.  "As you know we're missing a man for the Romanian mission.  Your unit has some of our best people in it, and we were just wondering if you had any input on a new candidate.  We heard that Weasley was interested in the position."_

_Harry frowned.  "He may have said something to that effect, Sir."_

_The colonel scrutinized Harry.  "You don't think he would be a good choice."_

_"I never said that, Sir."_

_The colonel nodded.  "You didn't have to.  I know he's your friend, but we need all the help we can get.  We were seriously thinking of offering him the position.  But I have also heard that he's become something of a wild cannon."_

_"Sir, his brother was killed recently.  That is to be expected."_

_"Ah, yes of course," the colonel said, stroking his chin in a thoughtful manner.  Harry couldn't care less what the man was thinking, and had no intention of recommending anyone today.  His mind was still on Hermione and the anonymous gentlemen secreted in her room.  She hadn't even seen fit to tell him that she had found someone._

_Then again, he mused, it might be a good sign that she hadn't mentioned him.  Perhaps it wasn't serious.  Just a fling.  _

_"Major?"_

_Harry was startled out of his reverie to find the colonel watching him with raised eyebrows.  He was obviously waiting for an answer to a question that Harry had not heard._

_"I'm sorry, Sir.  Could you please repeat that?"_

_The colonel did not seem particularly annoyed by this request.  Instead he pulled a pipe from the pocket of his robes and tapped it with his wand.  "Creo nicotianam," he commanded.  Then he lit it with a set of muggle matches.  He took Harry's confusion to be in response to this and he explained, "I found them on a bench  in Muggle London.  Seemed a shame to waste them.  Fascinating things."_

_But Harry's attention had wandered again.  He was thinking of Hermione, wondering who her lover could possibly be._

_"I say, Potter, look around your unit.  Tell me if you see anybody good or if you change your mind about Weasley.  It's a shame you can't go, but you're too important here."  _

_"Yes Sir," Harry replied, blankly.  "I'll get right on that."_

_It was another ten minutes before they parted, and Harry tried his best to concentrate, but failed miserably.  However, by the time the colonel had disappeared outside the doorway, Harry's attention reverted to the status of his unit rather than Hermione.  He had recently been informed that two new recruits were coming to replenish his numbers, and he would be in charge of training them.  They would be green.  Straight out of school.  Actually, one of them had never finished school due to the war, but had been granted an emergency wizarding license by the Ministry._

_The thought of such inexperience among his ranks dismayed Harry.  These two boys could endanger the rest of them on a mission.  A vivid picture came to his mind of a bunch of headstrong boys running out into the field, giving away their position.  Or worse…cowering in the mud when it was time to charge.  Perhaps someone would stop to urge them onward; he would be distracted.  Then…  'AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

_With a shiver, Harry stood up from his table, prepared to head towards the men's barracks where he was to meet his recruits.  In his head he worked out what he would say and the tone of voice in which he would say it.  No doubt these boys would have heard of him, but he was just another commanding officer.  He couldn't have them staring at his scar in wonder while there was a battle raging in front of them.  No, he would have to get rid of that right away._

_Harry was so engrossed in his own thoughts that he didn't notice where he was stepping when he reached the narrow couplet of stairs before the exit.  His shoulder rammed into another man's, causing the stranger to fall back a few steps._

_"Oh, excuse me," Harry said quickly in order to rectify his clumsiness.  _

_When he looked up, he saw Draco Malfoy staring back at him with a curious expression on his face.  Malfoy seemed to be examining his reaction as if he were confused at his politeness.  Harry, for his part, felt neither hatred nor pleasure at this accidental meeting.  He was merely preoccupied, and Malfoy was someone harmless who just happened to be in his way.  Without offering a single hint that he had recognized him, Harry stepped around him and out the door._

__

_Later on, on the day that Harry and Draco had met accidentally in the mess, Hermione was boxing up the last of her desk supplies, for her status as an officer on the field had been reinstated, and now she would never return to Barrack 49 of D Camp.  She hefted the box into her arms and walked eagerly out the door.  Her eagerness was not due to the fact that she would no longer be trapped in an office, but because Draco was waiting for her outside the gate.  _

_She had never been so happy in her life, and she was practically floating.  She could barely contain her smile when she approached him.  He too was grinning madly.  He had been especially happy tonight for some reason.  _

_"All set then?" he asked, already knowing the answer._

_"Yes.  Everything is in this box."_

_Draco made a great show of peering over the top to see its contents.  "Good God, Granger," he exclaimed.  "You're a pauper."_

_"Good thing I've got me a rich man," she joked.  _

_He smiled fondly at her.  "Well, I assume we're going back to your quarters since you'll want to drop off that junk."_

_She nodded the affirmative.  Then quite consciously she brushed up against his shoulder.  "Isn't it a lovely evening?"_

_Draco surveyed the endless expanse of red gold that lined the horizon.  It was indeed breathtaking.  His eyes wandered down to Hermione's beautiful face, the slight part of her lips.  _

_"Do put that box down," he said._

_"Why?"_

_"Because I am going to kiss you."_

_Hermione laughed, but decided to be coy.  She placed the box in Draco's hands and exposed her cheek for him to kiss.  He did so gladly._

_"You're in such a good mood tonight," she said, pointedly.  "I have no idea why tonight is so different from any other night."_

_Draco decided that she was still being coy.  He had been in a good mood all day, ever since he had run in to Potter at the mess.  He had been going there to meet Hermione, and the casual way with which Major Potter had greeted him—polite and accepting even—made Draco think that Hermione had finally told him about their relationship.  And if Hermione had told her friends, then maybe that meant she loved him!  Really, truly loved him.  And better yet, Potter hadn't even glared at him.  _

_He had imagined all day what she might have said to them.  Maybe they had gotten angry.  And then she would have told them how well he treated her, how good a man he was, how much she loved him.  _

_Draco set down the box and swept her into his arms.  _

_She giggled like a school girl and allowed him to kiss her.  _

__

_Four days later it seemed that Ron had given up begging Harry to recommend him for the mission.  He no longer brooded in corners or remained distant during conversations.  He was stern and sad at times, but never quiet.  It was just like back in the Hogwarts days after he and Harry had started talking to each other again after a fight, no longer remembering the reason for the argument.  His rejuvenation was a welcome change for Harry, who was relieved that he no longer had to worry about his friend's recklessness.  _

_He was glad that at least one friend was being open with him again, for Hermione was still being as elusive as always.  And her mystery man remained a mystery.  Though his curiosity (perhaps jealousy would be a better term) still existed, Harry had long since stopped trying to find the identity of this person.  He decided that he didn't want to know.  For all he knew, it might be a good friend of his.  Someone he'd have no right to envy and even worse: someone he would have to congratulate._

_As long as Hermione didn't tell him, Harry could deny that it was happening.  He supposed this was what a cuckholded husband felt like.  Helpless, hopeless…hopeful.  Yet he was not a husband.  Aa husband might have followed his wife, or he might have her followed.  He could hold her accountable for her ill behavior.  Harry could do none of these things, no matter how sorely he was tempted.  And so, the more Hermione was absent, the more he tried to pretend he didn't care.  Indifference was easy to feign so long as Hermione was absent.  And then, on the fifth day since his briefing with the Colonel, Hermione plopped down beside him in the officer's mess.  He had been sipping his scotch, wondering where his friends were; and her sudden appearance was a pleasant surprise._

_But when she said, "Hello," without a single apology for her absence, Harry was not happy so much as angry._

_Even so, Harry swallowed his anger like a lump of lard that stuck in his throat.  "Hello, stranger."_

_Hermione blushed a little, which Harry did not like.  He only wanted her to blush for him.   "There's something I've got to tell you," she said, choosing to ignore his reference to her absence.   _

_He braced himself for the worst and prepared to look happy for her.  Whoever it was must be a decent bloke, and after all…since he himself had never spoken…well, he couldn't have expected Hermione to wait forever.  It was his own fault that he had lost her._

_Hermione looked at him square in the eye.  He took a breath.  "You had better say it quickly if it's to be said easily," urged Harry._

_"Yes, how right you are.  Well you see, it's Ron."_

_Ron?  Harry had been completely unprepared for the mention of Ron, and now that it was out he was utterly confused.  It was impossible that Hermione should be carrying on an affair with Ron, for Ron had been by his side half the time that Hermione had not.  At the mess, at meetings, at anywhere, begging him to help him go to Romania.  _

_Romania._

_He realized before Hermione said another word that she was not talking about her new man at all.  At once he was both relieved and furious.  Had she any intention of ever telling him?  In his irritation, he spat out, "Oh goodness, what about Ron?"_

_"I'm worried about him," she said, surprised by his callousness.  "He just packed his duffle bag this morning and left the barracks.  I ran into him on my way out.  He said…"_

_"You were leaving the men's barracks?"_

_Hermione blushed again and drew herself back a bit like a puppy that has been smacked across the nose.  It was obvious that she had slipped, and it was equally obvious that she did not appreciate that he had called attention to her error.  Yet she avoided an awkward silence by blundering on without making any further reference to the incident.  "Yes…" she almost acknowledged, "But Ron is what's important.  He said he had sought assignment somewhere else and that his request had been granted.  So he's going, you see.  And I just thought, maybe he would have told you why."_

_Harry had choked on his scotch when Hermione had revealed this piece of news and was still coughing.  He hacked like a man dying, more for show than for anything else; for he wouldn't have to talk while he was coughing, and he was aware that Hermione was waiting for his answer.  He sputtered until his throat hurt, and hoped he would pass out.  _

_Ron had left?_

_Not a single thing came to mind, except for total astonishment.  Hadn't he seen Ron this morning?  Hadn't they arranged to meet for dinner at the mess?  There had been no warning.  No hint.  No words of good-bye or sad looks or enigmatic words.  If what Hermione said were true, then he had simply given up on him, bypassed his advice and rank and friendship…and gone.  How could Ron have done such a thing? How could he even have gotten onto the Romania mission without his recommendation?  _

_Harry turned to look at Hermione.  He couldn't tell her where Ron had went, because technically the mission was top secret.  Although, Harry thought bitterly, that hadn't stopped Ron from finding out.  _

_When his choking finally ceased, Harry was forced to struggle for an answer, and found that he could not quite look at Hermione.  All thought of her suitor was gone—had been buried under the utter grief of losing his friend.  _

_It was like losing Sirius again.  He didn't know where Ron had went, and he couldn't bring him back.   _

_"He…um…didn't mention anything to me," Harry whispered, his throat strangling the words like a hangman's noose.  But he was prevented from giving any further explanation when Draco Malfoy appeared at the bar.  _

_Harry gaped at the tall figure, who had not yet noticed him, kissing the top of Hermione's head in such a familiar way as to leave no doubt in his mind who that man had been in Hermione's room.  _

_For the second time that day, Harry nearly choked on his scotch.  He felt as if he had been shot.  What could he do?  Ron?  Hermione?  Both of them had gone behind his back.   _

_"Oh," said Malfoy with some surprise.  He glanced at Hermione as if to ascertain how he ought to behave, and then stretched out his hand in a greeting.  "I'm sorry, Potter, I didn't see you there."_

_Numb with shock, Harry took the proffered hand and shook it with constrained English politeness.  "No offense taken," he said.  And none had been taken.  Not really.  In truth, Harry could not feel insults.  He felt only this burning, wrenching pain from within his chest.  Breath was impossible; he merely gaped at Hermione.  _

_Hermione was fidgeting in her seat, but she sensed none of his turmoil.  After all, she didn't know that Ron was in all probability going to his death.  And she didn't know how violently Harry loved her.  How the only sight he wanted to greet him in the morning was her face; how he had longed for some word of her as he had gripped his wand like it was his last link to sanity before a raid.  She merely curled back her lips in a nervous smile and said, "Harry, you know Draco."_

_Harry, you know Draco…  She said it as if Draco had been some average bloke from London that he had met once at a luncheon and not the boy who had striven to make him so miserable back at Hogwarts.  Her tone was friendly, casual as if they had not been discussing their best friend a moment earlier.  And yet, her eyes lit up as she spoke his name, making it clear that for her there was no other man in the world but Draco Malfoy.  She was in love.  She was so happy._

_Her happiness didn't make the pain any less.  Harry denied that her happiness made his pain more.  _

_Yet later on, Harry would spend much time wondering whether his reaction would have been the same had it been Seamus kissing Hermione at the bar or Neville or Dean.  Perhaps had it not been Draco Malfoy, Harry would not have excused himself from the bar.  Perhaps he would not have gone out for that walk where his thoughts had turned so dark and his intentions turned so cruel._

_Perhaps he would not have gone to speak to the Colonel without regard for his secretary's plea, would not have thrown open the door to headquarters, stomped into the room and barked, "I've got a man for you.  Someone better than Ron Weasley.  He's perfect for the mission, and I'm only sorry that I didn't think of him sooner."_

__

_After he had done it, Harry had felt quite satisfied with himself for a whole two minutes.  But then he felt terrible.  Worse than terrible: he felt like Judas.  He paced around the men's barracks like a man who has just killed his best friend in a fit of rage.  And that was perhaps what he had done.  Perhaps he had saved Ron.  That was his one consolation.  Perhaps he had saved Ron.  But Ron would have gone to his death voluntarily, and Malfoy…_

_Poor Hermione.  Harry saw at last that he didn't deserve her.  No wonder she had picked Malfoy._

_Harry Potter had never spoken.  Harry Potter had pinned her down to a desk.  Harry Potter had caused her to meet Malfoy.  Harry Potter had sent him away.  _

_No, that was silly, he told himself.  Malfoy wasn't obligated to accept the mission.  He would be briefed; he would refuse, and that would be the end of it.  _

_But surely he would tell Hermione, and then Hermione would be so angry with him for meddling…and his excuse that he had been trying to save Ron would hold no weight with her.  Surely, he had lost her.  Even as a friend, she had been lost.   His honour as a friend was gone too.  He was not sure which loss was the worst.  For not the first time in his life, Harry contemplated suicide.  But he was not suicidal, and so he rejected the idea before it had fully formed.  _

_Around midnight he climbed the stairs to his room, there to find a note pinned to his door.  It was from Ron.  He skimmed it quickly, then crumpled it into a ball and unlocked his door.  A piece of chipped paint came away with the adhesive tape that had attached the note to the wood, leaving a comical void in the middle of the frame.  _

_"Dear Harry," the letter read._

_"I couldn't tell you.  I know you would have tried to stop me.  I'm going somewhere else, but don't worry.  It's not where you think.  I'm not cut out for that mission anyway._

_I'll write you when I can, and hopefully we'll meet again someday._

_"Your friend,_

_Ron."_

__

An answer to a few reviews (Forgive me if I didn't respond to yours.  I'm lazy.) :

**Serpent de Feu** – You've been there since the beginning, and I appreciate your patronage and support.  I also love your Fic recommendations to the "Sleeping with the Enemy List."

**Cho Chang – Emotional Dark Hole – **I'm sorry the story is confusing.  At times it is very confusing to me as well.  I've tried repeatedly to read it over, but each time I start cringing and decide to change things.  As a consequence, nothing is ever written.  It is merely revised.

**Kou Shun'u**– Your guess is amazingly close!  The translation of "Logoi Ergon" is "Words of Deeds" if I remember correctly.  The translation isn't very significant at all.  I was merely taking first year Greek, and that was the only thing I could think of.  I felt that Latin is overused (and frequently misused) in fanfiction.  I wanted an older sound.

**A fan…** - Thank you!  My belief is that the fics that are updated the most get the most reviews.  Since I haven't updated very frequently, and because my plot is so confusing I think people forget about me. 

**Pearls994forever – **Thank you so much for the encouragement!  Yes, my reviews were deleted.  I had about 29 or so, which would have given me almost one hundred right now.  No, I'm not angry or discouraged, but I will admit that if you hadn't sent me such a nice review, chapter 12 would probably have stayed on the shelf for a few more months.  I've had about 7 pages sitting on my hard drive since March.  I've been writing a lot, actually, but not so much in the Harry Potter fandom.  If you look on my profile, you'll see one new D/Hr story (very short) and a bunch of short Lord of the Rings stories featuring Eowyn and Faramir.  A lot of Harry Potter fans are also Lord of the Rings fans, so if you want to try some of those to hold you over, you're more than welcome.  J


	13. The Orpheus Curse

Author's Notes: Well, this fic is drawing to a close. Maybe two more chapters after this? Hopefully just two. And hopefully it won't take me a year to write them.

At any rate, this new format at is just fabulous. It's much easier to go back and edit one's work now. I've already altered Chapters 2 and 3. It's been a long time since I first published those, and my ideas of what love ought to be like have changed since then. I've tried to make it less crappy, but maybe it's beyond repair. Alas.

Chapter XIII: The Orpheus Curse

by Jenni

Ron arrived at the office that morning in a good mood. He whistled to himself as he walked over the threshold of the office with the confidence of a man who has just accomplished something grand. What he discovered upon entry was the dismal sight of his friends pacing the floor by the entryway, with puffy eyes and disheveled clothing. Hermione's nose and eyes were red, indicating that she had been crying. The huge I've-just-had-good-sex grin vanished as soon as he set foot in the doorway.

"Christ," he exclaimed. "You two look like Hell." Then, remembering that Harry did not know of his and Hermione's investigation, he hid the suspicious blue folder he held in his hands behind his back. "And you, mate," he said, trying to cover his nervousness. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Harry just reached out his hand. "Did you get the information?"

From the corner Hermione held up one slender arm, palm upward to urge him to hand over the folder. "It's ok. I told him last night about Malfoy."

Ron still did not surrender the folder, clutching to his chest like his favorite puppy. "You can't just take it without a proper greeting. I worked pretty hard to get this."

Harry eyed him with no visible expression. "You had sex with an Auror to get that."

Ron smiled. "And it was pretty hard!" he exclaimed with a relish. But at last he relinquished claim over the folder. "Or at least the breaking in part was. Getting to her apartment was only good for getting a copy of her keys. I hate to wake up early so Ginny could let me in the office, and let me tell you they've got these watch dogs that don't like strangers…"

Harry just took the folder and opened it. Hermione rushed to his side and peered over his shoulder.

Ron tried not to feel miffed at the poor reception of his work, but he couldn't help but add a pointed, "You're welcome."

Harry looked up over his spectacles without moving his head. "Thank you, Ron," he said with sincerity.

Ron moved beside Hermione, who was finding it difficult to read over Harry's shoulder. Her eyes were noticeably bloodshot, and she was squinting from the strain of trying to read. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "Maybe I shouldn't have sent you home last night."

Hermione shrugged it off. "I don't want to talk about it right now."

Then they both turned back to the folder and forgot about whatever had happened the night before.

Harry was tracing the lines of the report with his finger. "Here," he indicated, pointing at a particular spot. "Is this what you were telling me about last night?" he asked Hermione.

"You stayed with Harry last night?" asked Ron with some surprise. Hermione didn't answer him, but he saw the muscles of her jaw clench. She really _didn't_ want to talk about it.

Harry began to read from the report:

"_Wand readings register male wizard. Auror magic level A and Death Eater level A. Readings were spread across the back lot and on several trees at a distance of twenty feet, indicating the curses were cast by two men standing opposite each other_."

"Why does the report only say 'male wizard?'" Hermione interrupted. "It mentions two down here."

Ron seized the report from Harry and turned the page, then thrust it back in his friend's hands. "Look at that and tell me what you think," he said.

Harry continued reading, "_Although the readings note two separate kinds of magic and curses coming from two different directions, both readings are from the same wand_."

"The same wand?" gasped Hermione. She stepped away from the other two, although Harry kept on reading. Ron followed her with his eyes, noting the panicked nature of her pacing and the grief that had come over her face.

"What is it?" he asked her.

She glanced up at him, biting her fingernails. "He's insane. That's all I can think of. He just went insane obsessing over that book Mrs. Malfoy mentioned to Harry."

"What book?" said Ron, realizing he had missed a great deal while he was out doing his own work. Yet Hermione kept rambling without bothering to explain.

"He stole the Blossom Gem to get the book. Then he just went insane. Maybe he hears voices; maybe he sees things that aren't there. He must have just snapped. He got to the inn and started imagining someone else and then he cast a curse…"

"Or maybe he went nutters before," offered Ron, "and that's why he didn't come back for you after the war."

Harry sighed and pulled his spectacles off so he could wipe his tired eyes. "It must have been whatever happened in Romania," he mumbled with great bitterness.

"How do we know he's mad anyway?" asked Ron, "Maybe there was a scuffle between Malfoy and an unarmed person, who picked up his wand and starting casting curses with it."

"Death Eater curses?" asked Harry with skepticism. "All the Death Eaters are in Azkaban, and we know of absolutely no one who escaped. The only person still out who could practice Death Eater magic is Draco Malfoy."

"No…" Hermione shook her head, suddenly brightening. "Draco was never a Death Eater. It couldn't have been him. Ron must be right; there was a scuffle." But Ron watched her smile fade. "But that doesn't explain his behavior. He doesn't act the same. I suppose it's possible that he learned Death Eater curses somewhere along the way."

Harry nodded. "Do you know, he never showed up to his scheduled debriefing after Romania? He was insubordinate, and they court-martialed him."

"We'll need to interrogate him," said Ron. "I could have Ginny arrange an official interrogation so it'd go on the trial record."

"We can't," said Hermione. "Not without an arrest warrant. We'll have to find the Logoi Ergon first so we can pin him to the theft."

"And for that, we'll have to go to Malfoy Manor, which is what I wanted to do before" said Harry with a sigh. "Let's go."

"The Logoi Erg what?" Ron tried again, following the others as they scrambled for their coats. "Wait up! _Someone's_ got to explain this to me."

* * *

They arrived at Malfoy Manor just before tea time and were all quickly shuffled into the drawing room to await the mistress. Hermione found the room cozy, comfortable even. There were no portraits adorning the wall, meaning no ancestors to glare at them or curse them. There was a roaring fire and comfortable, yet tasteful, furniture and a roaring hearth. The colors of the room were an inviting pale green and gold, which eased themselves over the wallpaper on a blanket of swirling fleurs-de-lis. Hermione would never have expected Draco's home to be so welcoming.

Here was not the home of a madman.

It did not fail to occur to her than in all her years of loving Draco, she had not once seen his home. Not in pictures or paintings, and certainly not in any mental image painted by his loving descriptions. He had never spoken of his home.

She had thought it would be a dark and forbidding place, and was both pleased and saddened to find it was not so. She found herself unable to reconcile this house with the Draco she had left stupefied on her floor.

Not too many minutes passed after they were seated before a maid entered with a tray arrayed for high tea. A plate of delicate finger sandwiches was set before them, followed by a set of ornate porcelain tea-cups and saucers, and finally by the pot itself.

"The mistress will be with you shortly," she informed them before leaving.

Ron picked up a sandwich and munched on it. Harry kept his hands resolutely by his sides, staring like a statute into the fire.

"These are pretty good," said Ron, motioning for his friends to try an egg and cress. "You should have one."

"I left Draco sprawled on my kitchen floor," said Hermione in response. "I feel silly sitting here eating his finger sandwiches."

"I wish she'd just get down here so we can get on with it," muttered Harry.

"What are you planning to say?" asked Ron. "Hello, Mrs. Malfoy. We're here to find conclusive evidence that your son is a bloody crook."

"I'd leave out the 'bloody,'" answered Harry without blinking.

Hermione wished she had gone back to the flat first. Maybe if Draco had known how close they were to discovering his crime, he would answer her questions. She was trying to construct the timeline once more, but this time without her emotions clouding her judgment. It was difficult.

He had left her to go to Romania. The war had ended…he must have come back and started looking for that book. She had discovered about his presence in England while reading the paper. He found the book. He stole the gem and pawned it for the book…then what? He came to find her? He went insane. Or he continued to be insane…or…

Mrs. Malfoy chose that particular moment to enter the drawing room. "Good day," she said, civilly.

"Good day," they answered in unison like they were greeting one of their Professors at the start of class.

Narcissa took in Harry's brooding posture, Ron's carefree air and Hermione's angst-ridden features and shut the door behind her. Going to the fire, she picked up a poker and stoked it even though there was no reason. Hermione felt the woman just wanted something to cover up her nervousness.

A long silence ensued before Narcissa spoke, "My friends at the Ministry told me you'd been given a case to look for the Blossom Gem."

"That's correct," said Harry without revealing anything. "Did you know anything about its disappearance?"

Narcissa turned to face them with lips pursed. Without answering, she jumped straight to the point. "Is my son in a great deal of trouble?" she asked.

"He may be charged with theft, if that's what you mean," replied Harry.

"Is my son dead?"

Hermione's head shot up. Draco dead? She hadn't realized it, but ever since Ron had brought her that Auror report, she had reconciled the old Draco with the new. She hadn't wondered whether he was lying anymore, but only whether he still had his sanity.

"No, he's alive. He's at my flat, actually," supplied Hermione.

Narcissa faced her with eyes flashing. "I told you; that's not Draco. You of all people ought to see that." Then she motioned for Hermione to come closer. "Come with me, Ms. Granger."

With some hesitation, all three of the investigators got up from the couch.

"No!" Narcissa stopped them. "Just Ms. Granger."

Harry cast her a questioning look, to which Hermione responded by placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "I'll go."

"Take detailed notes!" Ron called after her, stuffing a buttered crumpet into his mouth; but Hermione had a feeling he was watching her closely as she followed Narcissa through the door.

Narcissa led Hermione outside the drawing room and down one long, vaulted hallway flanked every five feet by a pair of marble busts, presumably of long-dead Malfoys, that moved their eyes as she passed by. Some faces seemed inquisitive, and others angry. The figures in the portraits followed her as well, and some of the smaller characters leaped from frame to frame in order to get a closer look at her. Some hollered, "There's a mudblood in here!"

And others shouted, "Do not disrespect the future mistress of these halls!"

Hermione blushed when she heard that one.

Narcissa grabbed a torch when the hall met another, and led her down the darker corridor. There was no sunlight here, and barely any torchlight. Unlike the drawing room, this place was frightening, intimidating, mysterious. This was more what Hermione had expected.

"Ignore the paintings, please," Narcissa said, as one of the characters in the portraits made some polite remark to Hermione about her impending nuptials. It seemed that the further down the corridor they went the more deferential the paintings became. "You'll obviously not be mistress of these halls if you can't find my son."

"But I have…" Hermione protested.

Narcissa laughed a bitter laugh. "Have you never had a single doubt about that creature you so generously house in your flat? Surely you must have. If you haven't then you must not have known my son at all."

Hermione bit back a retort. "Yes, he is different," she admitted. "But you must have known that when he came back from the war. If he were the same man I knew, he would never have taken that gem."

Narcissa halted immediately and faced Hermione, and both women stared at each other with all the resentment they could muster. Narcissa's icy blue eyes bored into Hermione's. Then she motioned towards an oddly-placed little nob on a pedestal to Hermione's right.

"My son was a _good_ man," she said, firmly. "He took that gem for you. Now press the button."

When Hermione hesitated, Narcissa pressed it for her. A secret door slid open before her, revealing a dark stairwell that wound upwards in a spiral to a place she could not see. The crumbling steps had been repaired with plaster and cement, but that was no guarantee as to their safety.

"Where does it lead?" asked Hermione.

"To my son's study," answered Narcissa, sharply. "The password is 'Exculpa.' I assume you have your wand."

"Yes, but why?

Narcissa pushed her into the stairwell and showed her a little button on the inside of the stonework. "When you're ready to come out, just press this little knob on the inside of the wall."

Then she departed, and the door slid shut, separating Hermione from the light outside. Cursing Mrs. Malfoy, she fumbled for her wand. "Lumos!" she cried when she had found it. She sighed as she surveyed the ancient stonework. There was nothing to do but go up and look.

To say she was not curious would have been a lie. Hermione was dying of curiosity. But she was also worried about stumbling. She went up slowly, and found that the stairwell was actually quiet short. It didn't take her to any corridors or dungeons, but directly to the study itself.

A wooden door was all that kept her from the answers she had wanted for so long. The reality of it frightened her. "Exculpa!" she commanded, and the door creaked open.

The room was lit by charmed candles that never burned out or ran out of wax. And like the drawing room, it had warm and pleasant hue. It looked like someone lived here.

The study was strewn with papers and parchment. Ink bottles, both empty and full littered the room. The shavings from where Draco had stopped to sharpen his quill were still unswept on the floor. It seemed that not even the house elves were allowed in.

Hermione entered, allowing the door to swing shut behind her. She took note of the green and silver scarf, carefully folded over the chair by the desk. How often had he worn this? He was so rich, and yet he had never gotten a new one. He must have worn it all through school and beyond. And he loved it enough to keep it here. In places it was almost threadbare.

She touched the wool with loving fingers, like she might touch the favorite possession of a husband dead and gone. Picking it up and holding it to her face, she breathed in Draco's scent for the first time since Romania.

The new Draco never smelled this way: like spice and cologne and security. _Don't cry, _she begged herself. _You'll ruin the smell._ She forced herself to put it down.

The leather of the chair was also worn, making her wonder what it must be like to see him bent over the desk just like she had watched him at Hogwarts. She hadn't loved him then, but even that boy seemed more innocent by far than the Draco who had confronted her of late. A smile touched her mouth as she pictured him pouring over these papers. His hair would have fallen in his eyes, but he would have been too busy to push it away.

Just imagining him this way made her feel closer to him than she had since his abrupt departure. It made her sad that he was so different now. It was like losing him all over again.

Her eyes inevitably drifted to the desk, remembering that her primary task was not to indulge in some fanciful request of Narcissa's, but to look for the Logoi Ergon.

The desk, which was huddled against the wall and between two great bookcases, was large. A pile of oversized books sat piled in one corner, and there was plenty of workspace remaining. Or at least there would have been, had it not been for the enormous book lying open in the middle.

Hermione took one glance and knew what it was. _The Logoi Ergon_.

The text was ancient Greek, and the book had been opened to particular page containing technical illustrations. Hermione didn't know Greek, and she knew that Draco wasn't fluent despite his classical education. He would have had to write a translation down somewhere.

She shuffled through the papers on his desk, no longer trying to be careful.

One paper was completely scratched out with frustrated notations at the scribbled at the bottom saying, "No! No! Not right!" Another paper was simply scratched out in certain places.

She began to read:

"The cure for the Orpheus Curse, terrible to suffer, is detailed further. Many men have tried and failed to fight the curse. Others have denied its existence, only to face a terrible fate, more wicked than any other in the world…" 

Hermione stifled a smile at Draco's awkward translation. But after all, he had only a rudimentary, school-boy's knowledge of Greek. She read on, finding what appeared to be a list of ingredients for the cure the book was talking about. When she came to the next scratch mark she found it notated, "Not right! Didn't work."

Suddenly Hermione realized that this 'cure' was something Draco had tried to make.

She shuffled through other papers, and found similar scratch marks, all lists of ingredients that were usually violently scratched out and notated, "No!"

An hour of leafing over the desk and she all she found was the same list of ingredients, noted or scratched out, but always for the same thing. Why was he so interested in finding this cure? What was the Orpheus Curse?

When she opened the top desk drawer, she found a different copy of the list. This time it was pristine with no scratch marks. The translation was perfect.

Hermione exhaled as understanding came to her:

Draco must have done it. He must have accomplished whatever this cure was. All she had now was to find out what it was a counter-curse for.

It wasn't in any of the books piled on his desk, so she tried the shelves. Yet book after book yielded nothing. She began to get angry at her failure to find anything of use, completely forgetting that she had come just to find the Logoi.

She found a bunch of muggle maps of London, further proof that Draco had gone there to pawn off the Blossom Gem. _Stupid boy,_ she thought. He didn't need to steal to get the book! The shop keeper most likely would have given it to him for a couple galleons.

But Draco didn't know anything about muggles. He probably hadn't thought the man would accept anything less than what the book was actually worth.

She cast the maps onto the floor, suddenly very angry with Draco. Why couldn't he have told her about this curse instead of trying to work on the counter in secret? They had wasted years of their lives apart, and now he was ruined. He was a thief, and worse…he was deranged.

"What were you thinking, Draco?" she said outloud.

"May I suggest the blue book over on the other shelf?" called a voice matter-of-factly from somewhere in the corner.

"Where did that come from?" asked Hermione, picking up her wand. She hadn't seen any portraits or photographs when she entered. Who was talking? And why did it sound like her voice?

"I'm over here, on the chair."

Hermione looked down at the desk chair, but all she saw was the scarf and a bunch of discarded papers.

"No no, the other chair."

Hermione glanced up to see another chair in the far corner of the room, hidden under a bundle of dirty robes. And on top of those robes sat an open locket that Hermione had not noticed before.

She drew closer and picked it up.

"Hello," it said.

Hermione found herself face to face with her graduation picture from Hogwarts, cut out with meticulous care and set in this locket. She was moved by the gesture, knowing that Draco hadn't had this during the war. He could only have made it afterwards.

"Hello," she answered, tearfully. "Thank you. I will try the blue book."

She closed the locket before her younger self could answer and set it in the pocket of her trousers. Then she walked over to the shelf and opened to the index, which pointed her to the proper page.

She had read no more than a dozen lines when she began to weep, emitting great wracking sobs of relief. _He still loves me_, she thought with wonder. _He's always loved me_.

On page 871, the history of the Orpheus Curse was laid out for her perusal:

"_The Orpheus Curse:_

_Named after the Greek mythical hero who descended into the underworld to retrieve his wife, only to lose her again._

_First used circa 1200 BC by a Greek wizard who was betrayed by one of his followers. Legend has it, he cursed the man so he could never return home without causing great pain to his family and loved ones. The man never returned, and no one knows what became of him._

_The government banned it in 1789 because political leaders often abused its use by threatening their followers with the Orpheus Curse in the event of their betrayal. _

_It is said that a man or woman affected by the curse will cause his or her lover to burn from the inside out whenever he touches them. When a more powerful wizard casts the spell, the curse has been known to cause death whenever the affected party tries to speak or send word to his lover by direct or indirect means._

_Most of those affected do not attempt to return home. In several cases wizards have tried to break the spell, but have never been successful. Only one cure is known, but the book was lost forever in the fire of Alexandria. A copy of the cure supposedly exists in the Logoi Ergon, but that book disappeared from the Louvre during the 1789 Reign of Terror._"

Hermione clutched the book to her chest like it was a long lost treasure. She had solved the mystery at last. She remembered Draco's words much earlier. He _had_ told her the truth. He _had_ been cursed! Whatever he had done in Romania, Voldemort must have found him. He had been cursed for his defection to the Order, and he had spent all this time trying to find the counter curse.

She didn't know why he hadn't told her the truth instantly, but it suddenly didn't matter anymore. _But what about the Blossom Gem_? she thought. Draco was still a thief. Hermione bit her lip as she concocted the lie she would tell Harry. She would tell him that she hadn't found the Logoi…that Draco hadn't stolen anything.

But she discarded that plan. Hermione knew she could never lie to Harry. Rather, she would insist that they not turn him in, and Harry would listen. And then she would return to Draco, as fast as she could, and shower him with kisses. All doubt had fled her now that she understood. It didn't matter that he had tried to attack her, or that he looked ten years older than what he ought to be, or that he had concealed the truth for no apparent reason. Hermione was beyond reason. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to surrender completely to the depth of feeling she had cast aside after Draco's departure.

She rushed from the room and down the darkened stairwell with reckless zeal. All she wanted now was him.


	14. The Promise

Author's Note: Well, here we go. It's the next to last chapter. I've been writing this goddamned thing for ages, and I just wish I could finish it. But this is pretty much it. All that's left is maybe one more chapter and an epilogue.

* * *

Chapter XIV: The Promise 

by Jenni

* * *

Hermione whirled onto the front step of her flat, leaving a restless breeze behind her as she completed apparating. She hadn't bothered to explain anything to Harry or Ron or Narcissa, nor had she finished pulling her flat keys from her pocket when she shouted the spell to apparate. It was dangerous to apparate so quickly, but Hermione hadn't cared. Now her hands were shaking as she fumbled to find the correct key. The metal jingled in a frantic way, evidencing her state of mind. She hadn't felt so giddy to see anyone since the war. 

Every time a platoon had come back, she had stood on her tip toes by the camp gate, waiting for her friends to stumble in with their filthy, haggard bodies, either held proudly in victory or rigid with defeat. She would push to the front if there was crowd. As the war lingered on, fewer and fewer people went to the gate to welcome the soldiers home: most had found the experience too painful; but Hermione had still gone. And she always felt that mad rush of joy to see Harry and Ron or Parvati and Padma and Neville any anybody walk through the iron gate. She had never waited for Draco there. His missions were always secret: no one knew he had gone and no one heard of his returns.

She had waited once...when she had been informed that a mission in Romania had been successfully completed. He hadn't told her where he was going when he left, but when the details of Voldemort's Last Stand had been revealed, she had known Draco had gone to Romania. Except he didn't come through the gate with the others, and so she assumed that mission must not have been his. Only now she knew he _had_ been in Romania. He hadn't walked through that gate because if he had, the Orpheus Curse would have killed her.

So Hermione felt giddy, fearful, hopeful, grateful... Why did she have so many bloody keys? Good God, she'd never get the door open. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she thought of the reunion she ought to have given Draco, and the reunion she was about to give Draco.

Her trembling fingers at last alighted on the correct key, and she pressed it into the doorknob. It took her three tries to turn the key before she stopped and forced herself to calm down. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen Draco recently. It had only been a little over a day since she had left him.

_Oh God, he's still stupefied!_ she remembered. _My poor boy... Please, for his sake calm down and turn the key._

It turned.

She entered into the main hallway of her flat, and hastened up the stairs to her door: the one that said, "7, Granger" above the knocker. This time, she managed to unlock the door without any fumbling. However, once she heard the latch disengage, she found herself reluctant to enter within.

A curious premonition kept her standing outside, feet squared over the tacky door mat that Mrs. Weasley had given her for Christmas as if it were quicksand. This happiness of hers couldn't last. Something was still dreadfully wrong, and the mystery was far from solved.

But...

_"Draco?" _

_She awoke to find her lover leaning down, pressing a light kiss on her forehead. It felt wrong. Chaste and loving, but too much like a farewell. He was holding a duffle bag that was stuffed almost to the drawstring, and his shirt was buttoned and tucked half way into his trousers. He had stopped only to kiss her._

_"Draco, what's wrong?"_

_He didn't blink when she called his name, but remained still, committing her beauty to memory. She knew that was what he was doing. Draco never could be quiet unless something dreadful was about to happen. _

_He cupped her face with his hands, calloused, masculine hands that smelled of the laundry he had been stuffing into his bag. Normally, she might have kissed the palms or leaned into his touch, but tonight Hermione was too afraid of what he might do if she moved. Perhaps he would disappear like a ghost._

_He went on missions all the time, but he never behaved as he was behaving now._

_"Where are you going?" she asked him. "Am I allowed to know this time, or...or is it one where I can't?"_

_He still held her in his hands, and without any trace of sorrow or regret he kissed her lips. Lightly first, so she would not have time to lean into his embrace before he pulled back. _

_Draco__ was smiling when she opened her eyes. Smiling? She failed to understand why anyone would smile before going on a mission. "It's one where you can't know," he said._

_"So it's just reconnaissance?" she asked, hopefully. "Those are always quick." _

_The tears fell freely when she saw him shake his head. Why wasn't he saying anything? Why was he smiling when he was going to leave her? She asked him why, and he answered thus, standing so she was alone on the bed. _

_"They've entrusted me with a mission," he said. "Hermione, a **real** mission, with a noble objective. Someone actually submitted my name for a recommendation."_

_Hermione swallowed, taking it all in, remembering the days she had held him in her arms, running her fingers through his hair, and telling him that she understood his worth, even if no one else could recognize it. _

_She felt pride for him, and gnawing fear all at once. And she would not voice her suspicion that someone would only recommend a mistrusted figure like Draco for a mission if that person wanted to get him killed. It wouldn't do to take away his little triumph. And maybe someone had put in a legitimate recommendation...but the realist in her knew it wasn't so. No one on the base trusted Draco except for her. _

_The mission must be dangerous then; and Draco knew it, which was why he was kissing her like it was the end and buttoning his goddamned shirt and stuffing his pants into the duffle bag unfolded, because he didn't see the point in having folded underwear where he was going and maybe the duffle bag was just for show, so she would think he was going to where there would be a bed and running water and safety..._

_Don't start sobbing, she told herself. Don't do it._

_Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth and bit into the flesh of her finger to stop her teeth from chattering and her throat from clenching. She was certain she would vomit. Her shoulders were shaking, and she could no longer see through the sheet of tears forming in her eyes. _

_Draco__ was still packing his duffle bag when he looked up to see her silent struggle. A cry caught in his throat and he came to her. _

_That bastard, she thought. He's leaving me to go play soldier, except there's no playing in war. He's going to die, and he knows it. What am I supposed to do if he dies? I couldn't live, and yet, I would. I would go on without him, but my life would be over. Does he know that too, the bastard? _

_"Couldn't you have said no?" she whispered, choking out the words even as she fought to stop herself. His eagerness to leave defeated any thought of sending him off without protest. His eagerness was betrayal itself. _

_Draco__ sat beside her once again, pulling her hands away from her face and pressing them against the thick wool of his shirt. She flattened her palms against the breast pockets. How many times had she done this just before they made love? Would she ever do it again? _

_"You could have said no," she repeated. She could claw his eyes out right now, and they (whoever those bastards were) wouldn't want him for their stupid mission. Her nails locked into the cloth of his shirt._

_If Draco noticed, he didn't show it. He merely shook his head. "Hermione, you understand me well enough now to know I couldn't have refused." _

_"Yes, you could have!" she insisted, growing stubborn despite herself. She took her hands and shoved him away from her. "You could have done it for me." _

_At least he didn't go back to buttoning his blasted shirt. _

_"Hermione, please don't do this. I have to go," he begged._

_She brushed aside another one of his attempts to touch her, but all the while dreading he would stop. As long as they fought, Draco would stay. He wouldn't leave if they were on bad terms. That was the way of soldiers: no one should leave angry._

_"I need to go."_

_That was what cut more deeply than anything. He needed to go. _

_Hermione didn't answer. She did understand...she was an officer too, and she knew what it was to be shut out of the fight. But she had wanted to fight beside her friends, to be near them, to protect them. She hadn't wanted to go hundreds of miles away from them. And why should Draco need to do anything? _

_Wasn't she enough?_

_"Look at me," he asked, but it was more of a demand. So Hermione didn't budge._

_"Goddamnit, Granger, you stubborn ass!__ Look at me or I'll make you look!"_

_It was a reflex from their school days that she hadn't even known existed. But she snapped at him, looking him squarely in the eye. "You can't make me do anything I don't want to, Malfoy!" _

_He bent down to kiss her before she knew what was happening; and when he pulled away only seconds later, he was smirking at her. It had worked. Draco was kneeling at her feet, but she was doing what he wanted her to do. _

_"Listen," he demanded. "I love you. I've never loved anything else in my whole life like I love you now, at this moment. And I'll still love you tomorrow and the next day and the next year and forever. But you must let me do this. Otherwise...what am I worth? How can I ever feel worthy of you if I don't go?" _

_"Draco, you'll always be..."_

_He stopped her. "Sssh. No... I promise to come back."_

_Hermione sighed and tried to push him away again. "You can't promise that sort of thing. You can't keep your word. Or you may not want to."_

_"I promise," he said, holding her arms tightly so she couldn't pull away. Draco raised himself up so he was staring straight into her eyes. Hermione was taken aback by the earnestness she found in his gaze. He was being honest, and vulnerable and so very different from the man who hadn't wanted to admit she was anything to him besides a flight…and he meant it. Draco had come full circle, and the light of his long-sought heroism was shining in his face like the first rays of the morning sun upon the water: blinding and beautiful to witness. She was unable to tear her gaze away. _

_"I promise to come back to you. Do you understand?" There was not one single tremor in his voice. _

_"You just want me to stop crying so you won't feel guilty when you leave," she insisted, but her denial lacked feeling. She ceased to resist him, and soon she was enfolded in his arms._

_Long after she had ceased from crying and Draco was almost out the door, he seized her hand. It almost hurt because he squeezed so hard._

_"I promise," he repeated. He seemed so desperate for her to believe it that for a few seconds at least Hermione could no longer doubt him._

_She squeezed his hand back. "Then I'll wait for you, Draco Malfoy. But if you don't come back, I'll hate you." _

_He smiled, and Hermione expected the same sort of flippant response. But instead Draco shook his head and kissed her hand like a knight would his lady. "I could never hate you...not under any circumstance." _

Hermione opened the door to find shadow and darkness. She had never opened the blinds, and Draco obviously couldn't do it in the state he was in.

She stepped over the threshold into her flat, leaving the door slightly ajar so as to let in a little light before she got to the lamp. She should be careful not to stumble over his body. However, when she looked down at what she thought should have been Draco, she saw nothing but the carpet.

She gasped in surprise. How?

Suddenly, a great mass shoved her against the rigid paneling of the door, slamming it shut so cruelly that the walls quaked from the impact. At first, she saw nothing but darkness, but she could feel the thick silk of a cape, and two strong arms pressing against her chest, almost choking her.

"So, did you honestly think that silly little spell would keep me out of commission?"

It was Draco's voice, but Hermione was still too full of her new knowledge to fear him now.

"I'm sorry," she said, with sincerity, thinking that the door knob was pressing into her lower back like a dull barb.

"Lumos!" he cried, providing light.

Hermione found herself facing scarred Draco, the one with wrinkles on his brow that made him look ten years older and the jagged ridge of ruined flesh over his cheek. For the first time since his reappearance, she did not regard it with revulsion.

Instead, she reached out and touched it, with a reverent affection. "Did you get that in Romania?" she asked.

Draco recoiled from the contact and released her. "No," he answered, sounding confused.

Hermione took advantage of her freedom by traveling around the room, turning on the lamps. She could have opened the blinds, she supposed, but the new Draco had always seemed to prefer the darkness. And since she had decided to give him a fair chance to explain himself, she thought she ought to make him comfortable.

"Where were you?" he barked. It sounded like a command.

"Malfoy Manor, talking with your mother. And...I found something."

Draco began pacing the floor, uninterested.

"Don't you want to know what I found?"

Hermione watched him pacing over her floor, rubbing his temples with his fingers like he was trying to dig out some memory.

"Draco?" She crossed the room and reached for him, but he slapped her hand away.

"Get to the point!" he cried, cursing under his breath.

"I found your counter curse...the one you spent all that time trying to find...I understand now. Although, you really didn't have to steal the Blossom Gem, you know. That muggle dealer probably would have given you the Logoi for a couple gold galleons. He didn't know what the book was worth..."

Suddenly she realized that Draco was laughing. Not the fun type of mirthful laughter that is supposed to come after a truly good joke, but twisted, angry, almost maniacal laughter. Draco had thrown his head back and was laughing.

Hermione assumed he was laughing at the irony of the situation: how he would now be wanted as a thief.

"Harry will smooth everything over with the ministry, I'm sure. Or…he will if I ask him to."

But Draco wasn't listening to her now. He was tearing at his hair and stomping on the ground like a man caged in a cellar, who is trying to find a way out.

"A _counter-curse!_" he roared. "Of course, there's a counter curse!"

At this point, Hermione realized that she was sorry she had ever come home. She had thought her revelation would mean something, but all she received was mockery. He had destroyed the beautiful picture of their reunion utterly. Perhaps there was nothing left of the good man she had loved so well. This Draco was continually a disappointment.

"Stop laughing," she requested, simply. "I don't understand you. I thought you would be happy that I know."

Draco snapped, whirling around so quickly that Hermione reacted by covering her face for fear he should strike her. "_Know?_" he spat. "_KNOW?_ You don't know anything about me. All you think about is your Draco. Your good, clean, pure as the driven snow, Draco who would do anything for you. He'd chop off his arm for your sake if he had to."

"_My Draco?_" she gasped.

"Don't you think I would have!" he continued. "I would have done anything…if only…if…_anything_; I still can. I did…"

"Oh God," she groaned, wounded to the quick as the revelation stormed within her heart and mind. "You're not him... You never were."

The tirade ceased, and he glowered at her, jaw taught and every muscle in his body screaming hatred and pain. "No. I never was."

"Who are you? What have you done with him?"

"So many questions," he said, almost too softly for her to understand. Then louder, he shouted, "What about my questions? What did I do wrong? Why am I not enough? Never enough! It's never enough..."

Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it straight at his heart. Her hand was perfectly steady as she contemplated the exact curse she was preparing to speak. She would go to Azkaban, but perhaps that no longer mattered... "_ i>What did you do with him? /i>_"

He laughed again, this time a bitter laugh full of irony and humiliation. She sensed that he was no longer mocking her. Then he, whoever he was, grabbed her arm and hauled her to the door. "I'll show you what I did with your Draco."

"Let go of me."

"I've crossed mountains and deserts and the ages themselves so I could touch you, and now you want me to let go," he mumbled. Then he yanked her close to him. "I won't! Not so soon after everything I've had to endure to get here."

He dragged her down the steps and out the flat, moving at such a brisk pace that Hermione had to run in order to keep up. He kept muttering incoherent nothings under his breath so she couldn't hear or understand, but he would often punctuate what he was saying by jerking her arm hard or by pulling her closer to his side. They continued so until they were near the main center of town and Hermione was panting. The cobblestone road had ended just past the inn, and there was a brooding little forest before them.

Draco halted them there, allowing Hermione to catch her breath. However, his grip on her arm was as forceful as ever.

"Let me go! I still have my wand, and I swear I'll kill you."

"I'm taking you where you want to go. Just keep up. That's not too much to ask."

He pressed her onwards, veering from the road and heading directly into the wood.

"It's rather a lot to ask," retorted Hermione, at last prevailing in her struggle to free herself. "For all I know, you could be dragging me to some dungeon or torture chamber." She pushed him away and tripped on the uneven soil beneath her feet; yet she did not fall, and when she had righted herself, she brandished her wand before her like a sword.

Her captor stopped, and Hermione raised her wand higher, prepared for anything. But he made no attempt to regain his hold over her. "A torture chamber? You think so little of me?" was all he said. She saw that he was hurt and was not bothering to hide how much her opinion of him hurt.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I don't know you. You're nothing to me except my informant. Now where is Draco?"

"He's here."

"You're a liar!" she cried, pointing her wand at him with renewed force. "You can't be him. And I don't want you to look like him. You're not my Draco. You're...a lie. A perversion."

"I can't look like anyone else. I can look just like him. I can use the Polyjuice Potion; but otherwise this is me."

"Dice Veritatem!" she incanted, and fire burst forth from her wand to encircle him. She drew nearer, unafraid that he should hurt her. She wanted him to try, if only to give her another excuse to kill him. "Now, you can only speak the truth."

"Except I have not lied to you," he spat back, his voice low and dangerous. "This is how I truly look; for I am Draco. Or a sort of Draco at any rate." Then he motioned towards a cluster of gnarled oak trees huddled together in an unnatural helix.

"And Draco is also there," he said. "I've brought you to where I said I would. It's not a dungeon, and it's certainly not a torture chamber."

Hermione didn't even bother telling him that he had been hurting her for the past ten minutes. She didn't think the concept would sink in.

Following the direction of his hand, she looked towards the odd cluster of trees to find nothing but the dark void of the forest staring back at her: _The border to the Underworld_, she thought. _Or as near as mortal ground can come_. "There's no one there."

Draco walked a little closer, motioning for her to come closer. "Under the tree. In the ground."

Hermione looked for a secret passageway, but there was nothing like that in sight. There was, however, a large mound of loose and uneven topsoil that looked like it had been recently disturbed. The grass growing over it lay at haphazard angles like the divits golfers had tried to replace on the golf course she had visited with her father one time.

The terrible realization washed over her. _This is a grave. _Hermione shook her head. _No..._

"_Excavo_!" cried the Would-Be Draco, and the pliant soil before her parted to reveal a large chest, badly weather beaten and covered by worms.

Hermione didn't want to open the chest...she knew what awaited within the rusted box. Her boy…her beloved Draco. She remembered the last time she had seen his handsome face, gazing down on her with more love than all her friends and family could muster for her combined. He was down there, in that cold, metal thing; and his eyes were probably rotted out of their sockets. His smooth cheeks were pale and sunken with death. And his great heart had ceased beating forever.

And by God, she would have her vengeance. "DEFLAGRO!" She screamed, and the man before her collapsed to his knees, writhing in agony as a fire hotter than she could imagine kindled inside his internal organs.

It lasted all of five seconds; and then he was on his feet again. "I've had worse," was the only thing he said.

"Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you now," Hermione demanded.

"Because I _am_ Draco."

"Liar," she replied, and levelled her wand, pointing it straight at his face. If you won't tell me who you are, then _avada..."_

"I'm not your Draco!" he cried, holding his hand up as if he honestly expected that would ward off his impending doom. But it worked. He had her attention for the moment.

"I'm some other Hermione's Draco," he continued. "And my Hermione is dead. I loved her...you...you are like her in every way. I'm the one who's different. I made different choices that the Draco here, but I have always loved you. It's true what I said before; I would have done anything for you...only in my world I didn't. But I would have, if I had only known it was possible to find the counter curse. I promised her I would come back, and I did. So many times, I tried...that was the only thing I could do for her in the end was to keep my promise."

"What are you talking about? You're talking about something that's impossible."

"It's not impossible. There were two of us. I could talk about parallel universes or muggle physics, but none of that really matters. I don't understand it anyway. All I know is that I come from a place where things were different because of one choice that I made many many years ago. I became a Death Eater, while your Draco joined your cause."

"I don't believe you. Draco would never have served Voldemort."

"Oh, but he would have. He might have and could have... He came so close to it too. I know, because that is where everything changed, and he became him and I became me. And I…I killed you."

Hermione remembered that once Draco had mentioned something about being offered a place among the Death Eaters, but she had brushed it off. She hadn't thought it was possible.

"The Dark Lord found out I had a mistress, and he cursed me. I didn't believe he would; there I was one of his trusted followers, and I just didn't think…. "

Hermione stared at him, comprehension dawning at last. And yet, her wand remained upright. "You were both punished with the Orpheus Curse…"

This Draco blundered on. "Yes, he did curse me, and then I...I killed you." He pointed to the scar on his cheek, and Hermione saw that it was indeed the exact size and length of a scar made by a woman's thumbnail. "This is yours," he explained. "You just moved your hand to touch my cheek, and the curse worked its magic. You were in such agony."

"I can't believe anything you say," she cried. But staring at that hideous scar, she knew. "How can you be here? Why doesn't the curse work on me?"

"I don't know. I didn't try to understand the complexities of it. All I know is that I tried everything else. Time turners, mostly. I spent decades trying to change the past,. I'd go back and try to fix everything, but I killed you every time. You burnt whenever I touched you."

She remembere Draco recoiling from her touch that first night of his return. _Don't touch me!_

"Finally, I tracked down the myth of a dark witch, who lived in Yestonia. She told me that I couldn't avoid the curse so long as I followed the path of my own life. I would have to go somewhere else where I hadn't made the mistakes that I did, and a place where the curse had no meaning. I had her change everything so I could come here. Only when I arrived, I found him--your Draco that is--and I knew I had to get rid of him if this was to work. We fought; he wounded me, but I subdued him."

The two kinds of magic...Auror and Death Eater. Draco's inability to heal himself. _To think that I healed it for him, when I should have finished the job. _

"I wanted to look like him, so you would want me. I needed to get supplies, only I couldn't figure out how to heal my leg. It was a spell I didn't know. I put him in a trunk and cut his hair for the potion and left. When I came back, he was gone."

"Dead, you mean. He was _DEAD_."

Hermione moaned in horror, seeing just how different this man was from the Draco she had known. "You didn't even try to find a counter curse before you came here and killed the only person I ever wanted, did you?"

"I couldn't find a counter curse. It was too late. There was no counter-curse for me. My lover was already dead!"

"So you came here and killed mine!"

He threw himself at her feet, clutching her knees in the ancient sign of supplication. "_My_ Hermione loved me. _Please_, you can as well. I know you can. I've seen it in your eyes. I'm not a bad man, Hermione. I've done bad things, but I can stop. You can help me stop. Please?"

Hermione didn't even take the trouble to kick him away. "How did you kill him?" He did not answer. Instead, Draco buried his head in the cloth of her pants, using her to hide from his shame. Hermione stepped on his wand hand, which had rested by her foot upon the ground. Slowly, sadistically, she applied weight and ground his fingers into the dirt. But he made no sound of pain.

Instead, he looked up at her. "Nothing you can do to me would compare with the pain I have had to endure, knowing that I killed you."

"I don't care about your past, and I don't care if it's true or not. If you had truly loved me; you would have let me be happy with the man I loved."

Suddenly, Draco swept her feet out from under her with his free arm and pinned her to the earth, with both of their wands pointed at each other's chins between their chests. Hermione found he was too heavy for her to free herself.

"Don't fight me," he begged, caressing her cheek with the hand she had hurt. "Isn't there some part of me that you could love? I was the same as him once upon a time."

"NEVER. I loved him for his goodness. For the way he always tried to do what was right, even though he doubted himself. And I loved him for the way he accomplished right in the end. But you…you are only a shadow and a spectre of a man who might have been truly great."

"Love me for that, then!" he commanded her, his caress turning rough as he forced her to look upon his ruined face. "Give me some hope."

Hermione stared into his eyes, gathered the saliva in her mouth and spat into them. At first, he was stunned. Then the rage of her rejection set in. He reached down between them and ripped at something. Hermione fought him, unable to feel what he was doing. She wondered if he would rape her, and yet she did not feel his hands reach under her clothing.

"I _can_ be good!" he screamed at her. "I'll show you! You…you'll never be happy with Potter. I can be good. Love me, Hermione. Just say it once! Once, and then I'll go, but you'll never be happy with Potter…"

With all his fumbling between their bodies, Hermione managed to shove him off of her and get to her feet.

Draco's arms went around her legs, pulling her to the earth again. He was over her in a flash, screaming, "Say it! SAY IT!"

"I _hate_ you!" she answered. "You killed him." She slapped at his face, scratching and hitting him like a lion caught in a trap. Draco grabbed at one of her hands, and Hermione felt something hard being placed in hers. She didn't care what it was; she was too busy fighting to free herself.

She had not forgotten her wand, but she didn't have the proper concentration to try a curse.

His hand was on her throat, but it wasn't squeezing. It was a surprisingly gentle touch for a murderer.

_This is the end,_ she thought.

Draco leaned down to kiss her. A soft, gentle kiss like the one he had given her two years ago in the barracks before he had left on the mission.

"I can do what is right too," he whispered.

"_AVADA KEDAVRA!_"

* * *

Thanks to: 

**DracoDraconis, HollyMahogany, Sunflower18** for your numerous reviews. Reviews always encourage me to write faster.

**Everybody's Shadow** I hope this chapter answers your questions. :)

**kriCet x0 **I always wanted to finish this ridiculous thing, and now I'm finally very very very close. Thank God!

**Everyone else!** Because I'm too lazy to thank everybody.


	15. The End At Last

Author's Notes: I lied. This is the last chapter except for the epilogue. For those of you who were confused by the last chapter, I added more to it to help clear things up. I'm planning to add more explanation in the epilogue, but if after that you're still confused, I promise to summarize the plot somehow. I've had this on my brain for 3 years, so it's difficult for me to remember that others have no idea what's going on. But I also like confusing you, so don't expect too much. :) I'm evil.

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Chapter XV: The End At Last 

By Jenni

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When Hermione awoke, it was to the sensation of warm sunlight streaming through the windows onto her face. She was huddled under her down duvet, and it was beginning to become too hot to be comfortable; but waking up to the sunlight on a Saturday when one knows the she could go back to sleep without worrying about the alarm clock going off in another ten minutes is a delicious experience. 

She pushed the covers off and rolled onto her back, stretching for a moment before deciding she would try to go back to sleep. But having the covers off even for fie seconds left her too cold. She pulled them back up. _Cold?_ she questioned, only half awake. _It was warm yesterday._ Nor was the cold the only thing bothering her. The blasted drapes hadn't been closed before she'd gone to bed, and now everything was too bright. Hermione brought her arm up over her eyes to block the morning light.

In doing so, her eyes opened for one moment. It was then that the spell was broken, and she remembered. However, she did not remember the exact details of what had gone on before. She merely felt the full contrast between some nightmare she couldn't remember having and what she was facing now. But as dreams often fade with the onset of consciousness, Hermione's dreams seemed beyond her comprehension.

But she remembered that something terrible had happened, and now she knew that it was over. _Am I in heaven?_ she wondered, not understanding why she would think such a thing. After examining the clutter in her bedroom and the empty place beside her in the covers, Hermione was certain she was not in heaven. Any place worth being called Heaven would come with a maid and a gorgeous, sensitive, doting husband.

Still, she felt out of place, and she realized she couldn't even remember what the date was. It _was_ Saturday, wasn't it? Yes, Saturday. May eleventh. A glance at the calendar informed her that she was correct: it was Saturday…but it wasn't May. It was March.

Hermione was sure it had something to do with Draco. That was her instinct, though she didn't understand that either. She hadn't seen Draco in years, and most of the time she thought very little of him at all except to mourn what could have been. _Well, it was only a dream_, she thought. Still, she was reluctant to leave it behind, for it seemed important that she remember.

Hermione sat upright and wiped the sleep from her eyes. As she did so, she accidentally hit herself in the forehead with whatever object was in her hand. Curious, Hermione peered down at the little thing to find a little silver sphere connected to a chain that had been broken in such a way that it looked like someone had ripped it from his neck.

The sphere looked like a Rememberall. And it was glowing. But what was it she could have forgotten other than that she owned a Rememberall?

Hermione brought it up to her eyes and stared at the mysterious ball, wondering what secrets it might contain. She had never seen it before in her life, but it didn't seem odd to wake up holding it. Whatever could it be?

A rap on her window made her look up to find Ron's owl sitting on the ledge outside, a makeshift note tied to its leg with a gum band.

"Oh bother," exclaimed Hermione, smacking herself on the forehead and glancing at the clock. She walked to the window, opened it and retrieved the note from the little owl, who stuck out his leg with gruff annoyance. It apparently didn't like wearing gum bands on its foot. Hermione set the note down on the window sill as she tried to remove the offending band, and read the note.

_Where are you?__–Ron_ was all it said.

She was supposed to have met Harry and Ron down at the store so they could pick out the tile for the new office. Here, she'd insisted on replacing the restroom tile, and now she was late. They were going to kill her for making them wake up early on a Saturday.

But Hermione could have sworn they had already picked the tile. She was picturing white ceramic with little green flecks set in a checkered pattern. Yesterday she'd had no clue what they were going to look for, but today she saw little green flecks as if she had already gone through the selection process. It was the most mysterious sense of _déjà vu_ she had ever experienced.

The feeling continued even after she arrived at the tile store, knowing somehow that she would find Harry tapping his foot and staring nervously at his watch, but that Ron would have gone to the coffee shop to get a tea.

And she was right, of course. Even though Ron didn't particularly care for tea, she had known he would be off getting it.

They entered the store when Ron returned, happily sipping the new chai variation, and immediately upon entering, Hermione noticed a display case of various tiles, one of which was the very same white ceramic with green flecks that she had imagined earlier.

"That one," she declared, shocking Ron and Harry with her certainty.

Harry smiled, prepared to call an assistant to help them place the order, but Ron just looked at her like she'd gone starkers.

"You don't want to check the price? Or you know…match it up with the paint samples?"

"No, this is it," said Hermione. "I know it." _Because I've done this before…_

Later on, the boys asked her to come to lunch with them at a nearby pub, but Hermione convinced them to go to elsewhere because she knew the food would be greasy.

And when they were about to go to the magical paint store to check on one of their previous orders, Hermione had convinced them not to go because she knew the order would come in on Monday morning.

Then, a full minute before Ron went into a fit of hiccoughs on account of the chips he'd eaten for lunch giving him indigestion, Hermione bought him a mineral water.

"Good thing, this," he said, toasting her before taking a drink from the bottle. Hermione had no answer ready for him, but she was beginning to feel sick and her head was hurting.

Maybe her life had gotten so mundane since the end of the war that every day seemed like it had already happened. God, that was a depressing thought. She wasn't even thirty yet and her life had gotten boring. Then again, she'd fought a war so she could have a boring life. But back then she had thought Draco would be a part of it. _Oh Christ, don't think of him again. You ought to be over him by now._

"Hey Mione?" inquired Harry later that evening when they were sitting in Harry's living room, sipping butter beers and lounging on the chaise while Hermione still contemplated the familiarity of every single event that had occurred during the past day. Except for lunch, when they hadn't gone to the pub, the eerie déjà vu had accompanied her every move.

She recalled the Rememberall-like object sitting by her bed on the night table, and realized _it_ was the key to everything. She had to go back for it, because she couldn't stand feeling like this any longer without knowing what was causing it.

When Hermione stood up to grab her purse, and Harry had said, "Hey Mione, are you all right?" it felt like the only thing she had done of her own free will during the entire day.

"Yeah," she said. "I'm not feeling well. I think I'm going to go home."

"Are you sure?" he pressed her. "Do you need anything? Glass of water? Tea?"

"I'll be fine, Harry."

"Would you like me to walk you home?"

Ron was snickering from the corner, obviously enjoying the exchange between his friends. For some reason, she picked that moment to recall a time not so long ago when he was drinking himself into oblivion over the loss of his brother. Now Hermione just stared at his carefree face and found herself laughing with him. It was good to put the past behind you. She was going to go home and throw away that rememberall. Whatever it was, Hermione knew it represented a time that no longer existed and things that perhaps should stay forgotten.

"I'll be fine, Harry," she assured him again, chastising him for his over-attentiveness. "You don't need to walk me anywhere. I'm going to apparate."

"But you've been drinking," he pointed to her Butterbeer.

Hermione held it up to show that she hadn't had more than a sip.

Ron stretched out in the easy chair. "Let her go, mate. It's not like we won't see her again tomorrow."

Harry frowned. "I guess," he muttered under his breath.

Hermione watched Harry's dejected expression, and for the first time in a long time she really studied him. He cared for her; he wanted to help her. Maybe he was even attracted to her.

But Hermione didn't want to think about any of that right now. She just wanted to go home.

-----

At 21:00 Hermione apparated to the front step of her flat and opened the door to the main stairway in the hall. With a sigh, she closed the door behind her and began the dreary climb up to the door marked 7, Granger on that cheap, battered plaque she'd purchased for two extra pounds from her landlord. She loosened the fastenings on her robes and held her gloves under her arm as she chose the correct key. Life couldn't get more mundane.

But then… "Hermione?"

_That voice…_

Only then did she notice the tall figure standing silhouetted in the sparse moonlight streaming through the window down below the stairs. Silver strands of hair hung down in his eyes, reflecting the light. For lack of anything to do with his hands, he began to fumble with his gloves.

She could see the outline of his handsome features, and upon his face was the beginning of a smile restrained by nervousness. But he was here, on the steps of her flat after two years of not knowing or understanding why had never come back to her. And she could tell from the unfettered admiration in his eyes that he was back to stay.

The blood rushed to her head, and she buckled. Hermione's legs collapsed beneath her, but she didn't try to stop herself from falling. She knew Draco would catch her.

When Draco did catch her, he swung her into his arms without hesitation and carried her like a bride the rest of the way of the stairs.

Even though she was still dizzy, Hermione found the presence of mind to wrap her arms around his neck, caressing the short hairs at the back with her hand. She buried her face into his collar and inhaled his scent.

It was as if he had never left her. She felt just as safe with him as she had when he had plucked her from the field of battle and taken her to the medical ward. Maybe there were questions she ought to be asking, but none of them mattered now.

"Hermione, where are your keys?" he asked. "So we can get in the door…I mean, so you can get in the door, and I can ask permission to enter. I understand, if you don't want to talk to me. It's been two years, after all."

She handed him the keys. "The short, silver one," she directed him. "And you can come in, Draco. You can always come in."

"Can I set you down now?" he asked, struggling to get to the silver key.

Hermione realized that it must be difficult to hold her while trying to open the door, so she nodded yes and let him set her down, but grimaced when they lost contact.

She almost moved to take his hand, but then stopped herself. After all, she hadn't seen him for two years, and she couldn't just throw herself at him now like those years hadn't existed.

Although, Hermione felt that as angry and hurt as she had been before, all she felt was gratitude that Draco was here, opening the door to her flat and smiling at her as he turned the lock. She couldn't wait to throw herself at him.

"This is a muggle key," he pronounced, upon closing the door behind them and handing them back to her.

"The locks are charmed," she explained. "But I suppose someone could break in if they were really interested in my paltry collection of history books and my dirty laundry."

Speaking of dirty laundry, Hermione spied a bra hanging discarded on the end of her couch. She hurried to pluck it out of sight, and held it behind her back.

"So, this is it," she said, motioning around the room. "It's not much."

Draco looked around, appraising the area. "No, it suits you. It's very comfortable. And very tasteful as well. I only wish Malfoy Manor was so welcoming."

"Won't you sit down?" said Hermione, determined to be a perfect hostess. But then she noticed the clutter of bank books and freshly folded laundry lying on every piece of furniture. The only uncluttered chair was occupied by Crookshanks, who stared up at the newcomer with an inquisitiveness bordering on impatience.

Draco didn't try to displace the cat, but instead he put his hands in the pockets of his robes, and hung his head low while pretending to study her carpet.

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, hurrying to free up some space by piling her check books on the floor. The bra she shoved under the couch.

"No, that's quite all…"

"Darjeeling? Earl grey? That's all I have."

Draco sighed. "Look, you don't have to treat me like a guest."

"But you are a guest," answered Hermione, still heading towards the kitchen.

"No, I'm not. I'm an ex-boyfriend dropping by completely at a random, and I owe you an explanation. So, please, just grill me and let's drop all this English politeness. You must be angry with me."

Hermione lowered her hands, and peeked out from behind the kitchen wall. "I'm not," she offered, and respectfully waited for him to respond before heading back to the kitchen to put water in the kettle.

"You're not?" He appeared shocked.

"No!" she exclaimed. "I mean, I was angry for a while, but I'm not now. I don't know why. I ought to be furious. Maybe I really am. But for now, would it be all right just to pretend like we've never been apart? I don't want to ruin the evening yet."

"We won't ruin it," said Draco with a smile. "I promise." He sat down on the arm of the couch, from which place he could see into the kitchen while she was preparing the tea.

She poured the water into the kettle and set it on the stove and waited.

"I think you have to turn the stove on," he said after a while.

Hermione laughed at her absentmindedness and turned the stove on, saying nothing. She didn't look at him, but she felt him looking at her. It was unnerving to be studied so closely, and she pulled a lock of hair out from behind her ear so as to protect her from his gaze; but she did not tell him to stop.

"You don't know how much I've missed you," Draco said at length. "I hope you'll let me explain, but it's a long story. Maybe I could tell it over tea…if you want to hear it, that is. I mean, maybe you've moved on. Maybe that's why you're not angry with me…"

"Draco Malfoy is rambling," stated Hermione with genuine surprise. "I never thought I'd see the day."

He chafed a little at her words, making a nasty face at her, and Hermione thought that he hadn't changed much at all. He still didn't like to be teased.

"So, will you?"

"Let you explain?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Good."

Hermione turned back to the pot, trying desperately to remember how to make tea. It was difficult to remember how to breathe while Draco sat so near. Neither of them said anything more until the water was steaming, and then Hermione opened the overhead cupboard.

"Mug or teacup?" she asked.

"Teacup, please," he said.

She handed him a teacup and a tea bag, then fixed one for herself and made her way to the dining room table while he followed her.

They sat down, took their tea with the sugar on the table, but with no cream because the last of the milk had expired two days ago. Hermione didn't explain why she didn't offer Draco milk, and he didn't ask. They merely stared at each other from across the ends of the table, civilly sipping their tea and waiting for the other person to speak first.

When Hermione's cup was half empty, she said, "Weren't you going to start explaining? Because I'm starting to remember why I was angry."

"Oh yes," he said, as if what they had been discussing was the state of the weather and not their romantic past. "Well, you see…I didn't forget about you. When I didn't come back, that wasn't because I didn't want to come back or because I didn't remember that I was supposed to come back. It was because I physically couldn't come back."

"You couldn't have sent me word?"

"No, I couldn't have," said Draco. "And I'm getting to that. Just be patient."

Hermione took another sip and waited, noting that Draco's hands were shaking a little, causing the cup to rattle on his saucer. He set it down on the table and began in earnest:

"The last mission they sent me on was the Romanian mission that ended the war. As you know, I had been a spy up until that point. I wasn't a Death Eater, but I'd still been able to pose as a double agent in some circles where being a Death Eater wasn't a requirement for acceptance. And Voldemort figured that I had never really chosen a side. But when I appeared in the fight, killing some of his minions, and when he realized that I had fully defected, then he cursed me."

Hermione set her tea down. She moved to the edge of her seat and listened, a captive audience to the tale. Yet even as he told it, Hermione knew she had heard it somewhere before. "The Orpheus Curse?" she whispered, not understanding where she had learned of it.

Draco's eyes widened. "Yes, but how did you know?"

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not sure. I just knew it. I know everything about it. Like I'd heard of it before once in a dream."

Draco nodded, accepting her explanation, and then dared to pick up his tea.

"I've been scouring every resource I had since the end of the war, trying to find a way back to you. I had to track down a long lost book and translate ancient Greek… And in order to get the book, I did something very wrong. I stole a priceless Gem in order to exchange it for the book. I will undoubtedly suffer consequences in the future, but it's worth it."

"What's worth it?" Hermione shuddered, thinking of the penalty that might be exacted. Prison time, or the liquidation of his remaining fortune. Either one would have devastated the Draco she knew.

But he looked up at her with his gentle eyes and sipped his tea. He looked like a man, confident of his decisions when he answered, "Hermione, _you're_ worth it."

Then he smiled. "You know, in all the time we were together, I don't think we ever once sat down and enjoyed a cup of tea."

"It's quite pleasant. We should do it more often."

Draco set his tea down and stood up, coming towards her. Boldly, he placed one hand on the table and the other on the back of her chair before leaning down so that his lips hovered just above her own . "Yes, let's," he whispered.

Hermione felt the heat of his breath on her forehead. Her body screamed for his touch, and so she did the only thing she could. She put her face up to receive his kiss and returned it with all the power in her being.

Her fingers went to the fastenings of his robes, tugging them open. He broke away momentarily. "Then you believe me?" he asked.

"Yes, Draco."

"Do you still love me?"

"More than anything in this world," she answered, pulling him back to her. It was the truth, at long last.

Draco kissed the base of her neck, and tugged her robes over her shoulder, exposing it to his touch as well. His hands went under the fabric to touch her naked breasts, while she pressed up against his touch. She moaned as he urged her nipples to stand erect with the caress of his thumbs.

He managed to get her naked to her waist, all the while kissing her chest and then the dark aureoles, peaking to the swirling of his tongue.

"I love you," he murmured against her skin. Speech made her flesh vibrate, and Hermione moaned in pleasure.

"The bedroom," she ordered, still pulling at the complex fastenings of his robes. Draco took her hands, which were still on his collar, and kissed each one before sweeping her into his arms and carrying her to the bed in the next room.

He planted her on the bed, and took off his robes. Hermione watched with fascination as he turned around to face her, his erection bobbing up and down as he came towards the bed. She reached out and took it in her hand, then went down on her knees. She stroked his length twice just with her hand, remembering how it felt inside her. Then she placed her mouth around it, letting her tongue linger over the weeping hole in the tip so she could remember his taste. Above her Draco gasped, but he stopped her.

"Not tonight."

Then he lifted her to the bed again and pulled off each article of clothing that remained on her, replacing it with his kiss.

"Inside me," she begged, and he complied.

In an instant, Draco was over her and pushing inside her where he had not been for two years. She found that he was perfect for her. He found her tighter than he had remembered as he began to move.

Her legs tightened around his waist pushing him deeper. He kissed her desperately, panting into her mouth until the breakneck speed of his thrusts prevented them from kissing. But even then, they stared at each other, neither one wanting to lose contact for one second of their love making.

Afterwards, they huddled together on the bed: afraid to speak lest they destroy the fragile mood between them and afraid to sleep lest they wake to find it all a dream.

And all Hermione could think was the question she had asked that morning. _Is this heaven?_

_Yes. It is._

_-----_

She awoke the next morning to find Draco standing at the edge of her bed, just over her night stand. He was still naked, save for his trousers, and looked as if he had just stepped out to use the toilet. Now he was examining something lying beside her clock. 

"Where did you get this?" he started, staring down at the Rememberall on her night stand. He looked as shocked as she had ever seen him.

"I don't know. I just woke up with it. I was going to try to figure out it's secrets, but then you appeared and I forgot. Do you know what it is?"

"Yes. It's my mother's."

"What is it?"

"It's a sort of Rememberall, but it's charmed to be especially resistant to memory spells. My mother used to wear it in case father would try to obliviate her. If you're wearing it the moment the spell is cast, you can press the trigger later and all your memories will be restored. My father never knew about it. And I'd forgotten all about it."

"I don't remember why I have it, but all today I've felt as if I'd done everything before and that I'd just forgotten actually doing it."

"Here, I'll show you. If you're not afraid, that is."

He placed the object in her hand. "Just press it between your hands like you're praying."

She did as he instructed. Suddenly, it flashed like a star going nova, sparking in her palm.

In one tremulous instant, Hermione was thrown back onto her pillows, clutching at her head as image after image assaulted her. She saw Draco, clad in black, arriving on her doorstep. She remembered her confusion; her search…her findings. She remembered Harry's kiss burning on her lips, and the stirrings of her love for him that would never blossom now. She remembered the bruises left on her arms from Draco's fingers. She remembered her revelation at the manor, and the resurgence of her love before the strange Draco laid out his confession for her in all its terrible detail: how he had found a dark witch to send him to a place where he had never followed Voldemort and where the Orpheus curse could not touch him. She remembered the rusted trunk, the murderous fury that burned from within when she realized her lover was dead. And last of all, she remembered the other Draco's hands grabbing her, pushing her down as he leveled his wand at his own heart before he spoke the killing curse.

It was not May twelfth, but March seventeenth. Three months before the investigation had been opened. It was as if none of the events of the past three months had ever happened. Draco's death must have been the key.

"_I can do what is right too…" _he had said.

He had done what was right in the end. She had cursed him and reviled him, but that man had known what was right and had tried so hard to do it, but he had never learned. Yet for her sake he had killed himself because he had known his death would turn everything back to what it would have been had he never come, and he had known that would make her happy.

"_Love me_…_"_ he had begged. His version of Hermione had loved him. He had obviously, through giving her Narcissa's Rememberall, hoped she would remember his sacrifice, perhaps so she might know he was capable of true feeling. But Hermione didn't know that man and didn't understand his worth. Maybe she might be able to figure it out someday, but for now Draco, _her Draco_ was standing next to her bed and he was alive. And he was good.

"What did you see?" he asked. "You're shaking."

"I saw…" Hermione didn't know how to begin, so she reached for him, giving him a silent plea for him to hold her. "I saw you."


	16. Epilogue

Epilogue

By Jenni

One year later…

Hermione and Draco stood side by side, greeting their guests and friends as they fell past one by one as they left the chapel. The day was hot and the guests were numerous, although neither Draco nor Hermione knew more than a handful. The whole Ministry had been invited, it seemed, upon Narcissa Malfoy's insistence. It was no secret that she sought to make the Malfoy name respectable again at any cost.

Most shook Draco's hand with feigned politeness, secretly hating his guts for having the nerve to be cleared for his theft of the Blossom Gem (Harry had arranged that). Others offered enthusiastic handshakes and wished the young couple luck on their endeavors, pleased to witness the genuine love between an unlikely pair.

Hermione smiled for all of them, eagerly playing the role of a young society wife. Behind the façade, however, she was just simple Hermione, who had argued with her mother-in-law over the price of roses, the guest list, the food at the reception.

In less than a year she had lost that sense of desperate, dangerous love for Draco that had sustained her through the war and past its end. It had evolved into something tamer, something possibly mundane. She did not value it less because it had grown comfortable nor did she long for the uncertainty of the past. But over the months since her engagement, Hermione had found herself remembering more and more that man in the dark corners of her mind, that desperate and feral creature that had claimed to be her love.

It was strange that she had spent so much time trying to prove that the man from the Rememberall was not Draco, only to devote herself in the present to proving that he was. Hermione had garnered only the barest of facts about him: that he had been a Death Eater; that he had loved her; that he _had_ been Draco. This was not enough to bring her understanding, however.

She researched every facet of the Orpheus Curse, doing so in the early hours of the morning so her fiancé would not catch her. Hermione felt too uneasy to question him herself, for she had not told him the details of what she had learned from the Rememberall. She didn't want Draco to think about a life where he had not made the choices he had made and where he had not been a good man. Nor did she want to tell him that she had not loved _that_ person, the one he could have become.

When her books failed to supply the necessary information, Hermione visited a gypsy, who told her of way to change one's destiny. Only the gypsy witches knew of the proper incantation, and it was rare for them to grant a request for one. Furthermore, the spell was dangerous and often unfair to those whose lives are altered forever. They would perform it only on the condition that the death of the person desiring the spell would reset all things as they had been before.

Hermione did not understand how such a spell was possible. She even visited a Muggle physicist, who spoke to her of parallel universes, but she had no revelation after leaving his office. Confusion was the only thing she felt. How was it possible for a man to become so drastically different? And yet, that Draco had loved her… When had it happened? Had she truly loved him back?

And how had Draco managed to give her to keep the Rememberall, the memories from which now haunted her every waking hour? Hermione wondered if she would ever know.

A hand seized hers, followed by a friendly hug. Shaking herself from her reverie, Hermione found herself face to face with Harry. He was smiling, but underneath it Hermione could detect his pain.

"Congratulations," he said, but Hermione really knew he meant, _I love you._

"Thank you," she replied, pulling away so he could not kiss her cheek. Hermione remembered too well what it was like to kiss him. And she couldn't help but wonder, "_What if?_"

Harry passed by her without complaint and shook Draco's hand.

Hermione watched him move on and suddenly the revelation that had escaped her flashed through her mind. The Draco who was her husband and the Draco who had been her enemy were as different as day from night, save for one thing: their _desire _to be good.

It didn't matter _how_ the Draco of the Rememberall had done the things he had done. It only mattered that he had _desired_ to do good and had succeeded in the end. He had loved her in his abusive, possessive way, a way of love completely different from the reverent, gentle love of the Draco who was her husband.

But he had wanted to be good, for her sake.

Just as her Draco, the present Draco, had wanted to be good for his.

And with this desire in mind, they could move mountains. They could fulfill any promise.

But Harry…? Hermione saw Harry walk down the steps to join Ron and the rest of the Weasley family. He was sad and trying to hide it, but his melancholy was nothing to what it would be if he knew how close he had come to winning Hermione's heart.

And as her husband reached down to tenderly take her hand in his, Hermione realized that Harry would never know.


End file.
